Posted on by Fred

WOKE

Kim Weaver Television Interviews by NASA Goddard Photo and Video is licensed under CC-BY 2.0

*Turns on TV*

If we’re going to discuss something, we need to agree on its definition.  I’m using Merriam-Webster. 

Woke: aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/woke

Woke is also the past tense of the verb “wake.”  It means to stop sleeping.  At its core, it seems to me to mean one has become alert to some of the bad things that are happening.  There are plenty of those.  Being shot is now the number one cause of death for our children, surpassing even car crashes.  Black people are twice as likely as White people to be shot by police officers.  Violence against transgender people continues to rise.  Those of us who are Woke would like to stop this. 

Bigotry is now celebrated, and people are getting crabby about being called bigots just because they believe there are only two genders, or homosexuality is a sin, or Drag Queens are probably pedophiles, or that those who are not straight, white, male Christians are probably bad in one way or another.  Those of us who are Woke would like people to be treated as individuals.  Part of being Woke is understanding that There is no Them; we are all Us.  We don’t think people should be treated differently because someone believes their identities are sinful.

Terry Pratchett had better ideas about sin.

“Sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.” 

― Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum

And that’s the heart of Capitalism.  People are commodities to be traded for profit.  We are numbers – statistics to be used in a study, but not individuals to be treated with love and respect. 

One of the arguments I frequently hear against a woman’s right to choose what to do with her body is that rape makes up very few abortions.  They’re right, at least according to my Google Search.  It’s less than half a percent.  So… ignore those.  They’re outliers.  Let’s just ban abortion for everyone.

Except… Rape victims are also human beings.  Most of them are women who had a favorite blanket or stuffed animal when they were little.  They probably went to their senior proms and worried about whether their makeup was right, and their dress fit properly, and was it even the right color, and what will other people think when they walk in?  Some of them hugged their son when they dropped him off for kindergarten.  And then someone took away their sense of safety, their sense of identity, and their grasp on their own dignity.  And more than 3 million women in America were raped and became pregnant.  They’re not just statistics.  They matter.  The statistics, if they are what matter to you, are below:

https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/sexualviolence/understanding-RRP-inUS.html

Outliers are all people, regardless of how many there are.  Every single one of them matters.  We cannot lose sight of this fact.

When we mistreat someone, anyone, or deny them the rights some of the rest of us have, that’s bigotry. 

The Oxford Dictionary defines it:

obstinate or unreasonable attachment to a belief, opinion, or faction, in particular prejudice against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular group.

You’re opposed to immigration?  Yeah.  That’s bigotry.  No one chose where to be born.  But you’re denying someone something because they’re members of the group of people who weren’t born in The United States.  One can be a good person or bad person, or anything in between, regardless of where they were born.  We decide whether someone is good or bad based on their behaviors, not their birthplace.  Are they welcome to come so long as they do it legally?  That’s legalism.  Let’s check with Merriam-Webster again. 

strict, literal, or excessive conformity to the law or to a religious or moral code

the institutionalized legalism that restricts free choice

Legalism is a shield behind which to hide the bigotry we prefer not to admit, even to ourselves.

You don’t like people whose religious beliefs are different from yours?  That’s bigotry.  One can have any set of beliefs and be either a good person or bad person, or anything in between, regardless of their religion.  We decide whether someone is good or bad based on their behaviors not their religion. 

I don’t like people who fly planes into buildings.  That doesn’t mean all Muslims are bad people.  The percentage of Muslims who do that is almost incalculably small.  I don’t like people who burn Joan of Arc at the stake.  That doesn’t mean all Christians are bad people.  The percentage of Christians who do that is almost incalculably small.  We make judgments about individuals not groups.

Those of us who are Woke prefer that everyone be treated with respect, dignity, kindness, and empathy.  We prefer that everyone gets to live their life without interference so long as they’re not hurting anyone else. 

We would like to increase understanding that some people are different from you, and that it’s okay for them to be different.  That doesn’t mean you have to be like those who are different.  You need only to understand that there is more than one way for a person to exist, to experience life, to see the world.  This isn’t a threat to your identity.  You get to be different, too.  It’s perfectly fine for everyone to be unique.  In fact, it’s unavoidable. 

Of course, this is when we’re going to hear about The Paradox of Tolerance.  What’s that?  We’ll use Wikipedia this time.

The paradox of tolerance states that if a society is tolerant without limit, its ability to be tolerant is eventually seized or destroyed by the intolerant. Karl Popper described it as the seemingly self-contradictory idea that in order to maintain a tolerant society, the society must retain the right to be intolerant of intolerance.

— https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paradox_of_tolerance

I need to tolerate those who disagree with me.  And, obviously, I do.  Many of my friends and more than a few of my listeners are probably annoyed that I find their intolerance of those who are different to be bigotry.  That doesn’t mean I don’t love them.  It means that I would like to help to make them rethink some of their ideas.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

*Switches channel*

***

Swanson McDeere here.

I was doing what I was told to do.  I made billions of dollars for them.  I was the top money maker for seven years.  Seven fucking years!  And goddamn Wolf News gives in to the Woke Cancel Culture. 

Did I lie?  Yes, of course I did.  I really – no kidding – I see no problem with that.  Some of the Left’s greatest heroes lied.  Steinbeck?  Absolutely a liar.  There’s no evidence Tom Joad ever existed.  Lenny and George?  Pure bullshit.  But they give him a goddamn Nobel fucking Prize for his lying.  So long as you tell the right lies, everyone loves you.  Tell lies that make people think?  Lies that make people uncomfortable?  You get cancelled!

***

*Switches channel*

Photo by Angela Roma on Pexels.com

This is a quotation I’ve seen on Facebook recently, and I think it handles it well:

The Paradox of Tolerance disappears if you look at tolerance, not as a moral standard, but as a social contract. If someone does not abide by the contract, then they are not covered by it. In other words: The intolerant are not abiding by the terms of the social contract of mutual tolerance.

I’m not looking to lock anyone up for being a bigot.  I’m not hoping to shun them or “cancel” them, but I would like them to see themselves honestly so there is an opportunity for them to change.

*Switches channel*

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

***

I get fired, and The Left cheers.  How tolerant of them!  Isn’t that their thing?  We’re supposed to tolerate people who are different, right?  Where’s the tolerance for those who believe in hard work?  Where’s the tolerance for people who believe in traditional American values?  Where’s the tolerance for people who know that God made two genders… who don’t want men in the women’s restroom, who don’t want men pretending to be women and competing against women who are biologically weaker than they are?  Where’s the tolerance for those who believe life is sacred and no child should be murdered before it’s born?

If I had to lie to convince people of the Truth, so be it!  I was paid to do it.  I was proud to do it.  And some whiny thin-skinned company throws a goddamn fit because they think my little lies hurt their business.  If your business isn’t good enough to survive a few lies, you don’t deserve to be in business. 

What happened to the Freedom of Speech the Woke Left worships?   Free Speech is great so long as you don’t say anything that pisses anyone off.  But if you hurt their little feelings, they fine you three quarters of a billion dollars! 

***

*Switches channel*

Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

Being different doesn’t necessarily represent a threat to anyone.  Granted, if being “different” means you’re a child molester or a serial killer, that won’t work.  Someone needs to stop you.  If being different means only that someone’s identity is not the same as yours, they’re not hurting you.  I would like them to discover their own identity, their own purpose, their own place in the world.  Why is that a problem?

It’s in that wild-open-range-diversity that we expand the possibilities of human existence.  It’s where we find new meanings, new ideas, and new hope.  What is the advantage of limiting it? 

I hear plenty of complaints about The Woke Police.  These are people who object to others being marginalized, disrespected, or denied rights because they don’t fit into the norm.  The people who complain about them, it seems to me, don’t like facing the fact that they would like to make others less than, and The Woke would prefer that everyone is allowed to live their lives without being hurt.

Writer, broadcaster, former barrister and Guardian columnist Afua Hirsch says: “The truth is, there are no woke police.”

Hirsch explains: “In reality, the only thing that unites the woke is an intellectual curiosity about identity and how complex, how nuanced, how rooted in disparate histories it can be. The real groupthink, the genuinely cohesive crowd, it’s increasingly clear, is that of the anti-woke, the most weaponised identity of all.”

Hirsch points out the irony of “the rightwing culture warriors [who] claim to support free speech” but “they seem to want minorities to shut up and stop complaining”.

https://www.nationalworld.com/whats-on/arts-and-entertainment/what-does-woke-mean-definition-woke-culture-2023-3215758

*Switches channel*

***

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

They can say all kinds of bullshit, and it’s fine.  They say there’s more than two genders: lie!  They say lazy whiny welfare queens deserve our support: lie!  They say it’s our responsibility to feed their little monsters: massive lie!  They make the unsupportable claim that everyone should be allowed to vote, and the morons cheer.  So long as it fits their bleeding-heart agenda, it’s all fine. 

So, I’ll tell you the truth one last time, and then you won’t have Swanson McDeere to kick around anymore.

 There are two genders.  They’re assigned at birth.  God made the world that way. 

People who don’t pull their weight are a drain on our society.  They belong in a homeless shelter. 

If people can’t support their kids, they need to keep their legs together.  If someone is raped, the female body makes sure she doesn’t get pregnant.  Those are the facts, whether those Woke Left pussies like them or not.

Thank you for all your support over the last seven years.  I weep for America.

***

*Switches channel*

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

If we want to have a better world, one that includes all of us, the first step is to believe in it.  If Fred’s Front Porch Podcast does nothing else, I hope it helps you to believe in what many call impossible.  If we buy into the idea that the world can’t be changed, then the cynics are right.  We will be here forever.  If we can convince ourselves, however, that change is possible, we’re already on the way to making that change.    

Pick the channel you want to watch.  Pick the ideas you want to consider.  Thanks for considering mine.

I’m Woke.  And whether we agree about anything at all… I love you.

*Turns off TV*

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Posted on by Fred

Finding Joy… Even in Poverty

The title sounds like some sort of seminar.  I can almost hear the enthusiastic voice of some 20-year-old guru asking for a show of hands. I can easily imagine him saying, “That’s perfect!  Great.  Love the involvement.  The message is really getting through.”

For the record, I would prefer to be stripped naked, tied to an anthill, and coated in honey than to do any such presentation.  Salesmanship makes my skin crawl.  I had to sell DirecTV for several months, and I would need to go home every night and try to remind myself that I was not inherently evil; I was just doing evil things for a little while so I could eat.  That sort of equivocation does little for one’s soul.

No, this isn’t a sales pitch.  If it were up to me, you would buy nothing ever again because money would cease to exist.  If you’re listening to this anywhere other than Patreon, you’ll have to tolerate a commercial in a little while, but I won’t be selling joy.  I don’t believe it can be sold.  “Life is pain, Highness.  Anyone who says differently is selling something,” as Wesley reminded Buttercup.

So, what the hell do I mean about Finding Joy Even In Poverty?  How stupid is that?  Shouldn’t I be ashamed of myself?  Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself for many, many things.  This just isn’t one of them.  Why?

I manage to find Joy even while I live only a few dollars above the Poverty Line.  I do that by recognizing the difference between what I need and what I want.  As it turns out, I don’t even want all that much anymore. 

I need a place to live and sleep.  I need food.  I need something to drink.  I need insulin and my other medications.  I need the needles so I can take my insulin.  I have those things covered.

I want the equipment to do my show well.  I want this computer so I can write.  I want enough soda to make it possible for me to exist.  I want enough cigarettes to keep from killing Speedy Shine.  I want a little weed so I can loosen up my brain and slow down my stress.  I have those things covered, too.

I wouldn’t object to having better equipment, but I think my show sounds great with what I have.  I wouldn’t mind having more space for my books, but I can get access to most of them now, anyway, so it’s fine.  I lost the desire for nice clothes seven years ago.  A friend sent me some new ones anyway a couple of weeks ago.  They’re the first I’ve had since I quit teaching.  I didn’t need them, but I’m certainly happy to have them. 

When you’ve lived without for long enough, you realize how much you don’t really need anyway.  I’m fortunate enough to have been all but killed by my Diabetes.  That seems rather antithetical to good fortune, but it’s allowed me to live what little may remain of my life in the way that I want to. 

No one can expect me to go to work.  I’ll be dead before the end of the first week.  So, the government gives me not-really-enough money on which to live.  I get by, though, just as Lennon and McCartney did, “with a little help from my friends.”  So, there are things I don’t need anymore. 

I don’t need a car.  I live in terror of other people, so I almost never need to go anywhere.  Using Lyft a couple of times a month is much cheaper than car payments, paying for parking, paying for insurance, paying for maintenance, and paying for any tickets I might get because I have no patience anymore.  And there is pure Joy in being freed of this need.  I don’t have to worry about my car failing to start when I need to get somewhere.  I don’t need to call tow trucks.  I don’t need to hope I can find a mechanic or hope that I can find someone to pass my car through smog checks when the check engine light won’t go off.  I don’t need to stop smoking up for 5 hours so I can drive safely.  The last time I had a flat tire, I had to have my best friend change it because I am incapable of such a feat.  All those problems are off my plate.  I’m many pounds lighter for their absence. 

Another glorious absence is the necessity of the alarm clock.  I still have alarms set on my phone, but they are exclusively for the things I want to do.  There is no more 5:37 AM disturbance that tells me to get in the shower and rush off to work.  When I am tired now, I get to sleep.  That luxury is extraordinary.  I used to dream of it.  I thought it meant needing to win the lottery.  It didn’t.  It meant being able to get by with less.  I’m more than happy to make that trade.  (Okay, it also meant having my body all but destroyed by Diabetes, but that’s the way it goes.  I would really prefer not to be Diabetic, but there’s nothing to be done.)  I’m tired this morning.  I’m going to go make some breakfast and lie down.  That’s one of the most joyous feelings I know.

Sometimes we need to lose things in order to learn not only their value, but also their weight.  Loss is a brilliant teacher that way; it can show us what’s important simply by creating space where it once was. 

— Mark Groves 

I have the space to pay attention to what matters to me.  I want to be a better writer.  I’m working as hard as I can to make that happen.  I want my words to move people.  I want my prose to make them recognize not only that the world should be changed, but that it can be changed whenever we decide we want it to be.  I need to be a better writer if I’m going to manage that.

Many people told me this morning that I’m wasting my time by trying to change the minds of those who are rooting for the demise of Democracy.  They may be right, but that makes no difference.  If I open one of their minds a quarter of an inch farther, I’ve done something. 

And now I have the time to devote to that goal.  In the most meaningful sense of the word, I’m Free.  I’m allowed to spend my time in the ways I choose.  I may think what I like.  I may do, for the most part, what I like.  (Okay, I’ll never be able to travel to see Sara Niemietz and Snuffy Walden again, but they rarely play together anymore, anyway, and I can see Sara once a week on Weekly Wacky Wednesday.  I see Snuffy being all happy in Europe.  That’s enough for me.) 

I get to be who I choose to be.  That’s what Freedom really means.

I don’t want to recommend that anyone become diabetic.  I’m not sure that’s something you can do intentionally, anyway.  I don’t know of any little kid who grew up thinking they want to be diabetic so they can stay home and write all day long, so long as they avoid both DKA and hypoglycemia. 

But that’s where I am.  I don’t like worrying about whether I’m going to overdraw my account every month, but if I’m careful I can usually avoid that.  I have a place to live.  It’s not the nicest place you’ve ever seen.  The furniture is unsellable.  I would have to pay someone to haul it away.  The carpet needed to be replaced years before I moved in.  One of the sliding glass doors won’t open at all.  But it’s safe.  It’s reasonably clean… by my standards, even if not by yours… and it’s mine.  There’s no one to tell me what’s wrong with me anymore.  I’m without a wife.  That makes my life much easier. 

I know people who would loathe living the way I do.  They can’t stand the thought of being alone.  I can’t stand the thought of being around people any more than is absolutely necessary. 

Freedom is, for me, the key to Joy.  Doing the things that are meaningful to me, ignoring the things that aren’t, and finding my authentic hat as a writer makes me happier than anything else I know.

This is why we need a Universal Basic Income.  Everyone should have at least what I do.  Let us do the work we want to do and not what someone else tells us to do.  We need to end Bullshit Jobs.

Wait, what?  What are Bullshit Jobs?  Did you just make that up, Fred?

Bullshit Jobs: A Theory is a 2018 book by anthropologist David Graeber that postulates the existence of meaningless jobs and analyzes their societal harm. He contends that over half of societal work is pointless, and becomes psychologically destructive when paired with a work ethic that associates work with self-worth. Graeber describes five types of meaningless jobs, in which workers pretend their role is not as pointless or harmful as they know it to be: flunkies, goons, duct tapers, box tickers, and taskmasters. He argues that the association of labor with virtuous suffering is recent in human history, and proposes unions and universal basic income as a potential solution.

— https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bullshit_Jobs

I’m not wise enough to determine who deserves what, but I assure you that all people, whether I like them or not, deserve a home, sufficient food, and appropriate medical care.  No, that won’t cripple society.  You can say any number of horrible things about me, but one thing you can’t accuse me of being is lazy.  I wasn’t lazy when I spent 60 or more hours a week teaching, either. 

Even more perverse, there seems to be a broad sense that this is the way things should be. This is one of the secret strengths of right-wing populism. You can see it when tabloids whip up resentment against tube workers for paralysing London during contract disputes: the very fact that tube workers can paralyse London shows that their work is actually necessary, but this seems to be precisely what annoys people. It’s even clearer in the US, where Republicans have had remarkable success mobilizing resentment against school teachers, or auto workers (and not, significantly, against the school administrators or auto industry managers who actually cause the problems) for their supposedly bloated wages and benefits. It’s as if they are being told ‘but you get to teach children! Or make cars! You get to have real jobs! And on top of that you have the nerve to also expect middle-class pensions and health care?’

https://www.atlasofplaces.com/essays/on-the-phenomenon-of-bullshit-jobs/

I put not less than 60 hours a week just into this podcast.  I’m getting better at using the software, so I don’t need as much time to record a basic episode.  I still need help, though, on the big ones.  I had to get Chris from Interstellar Frequency to help me with “The Impossible Conversation.” 

That doesn’t mean I work less.  It means I can afford to put more time into the writing process.  It means I can invest my minutes more meaningfully.  Improvements in technology made this possible.

40 years ago, I had to use a typewriter.  If I made a mistake, I would think long and hard about correcting it because using liquid paper is difficult.  No matter how well you manage it, your manuscript looks unprofessional.  Erasable paper was expensive, and it tended to smudge.  Today I can rewrite with the backspace key.  I can move paragraphs with a couple of keystrokes.  I can save the same work in different versions, so I feel more free to take chances. 

40 years ago, the best I could do was a tape deck and a mixer to do anything remotely resembling a podcast.  The CD player was brand new.  You had to buy a whole CD to get the track or two you wanted.  Today I have access to an enormous library of music I can use legally.  I have a computer that lets me put it precisely where I want it at exactly the right volume.  I can make my voice do things I never would have dreamt of in 1983. 

Technology has made my work more efficient so I can learn to make it more effective.  And it’s cheaper than ever.  Even living a foot or two above the poverty line, because I get so much help from so many people, I can afford the technology I need to do my best work as well as possible.  Technology is one of the few things that becomes cheaper as time passes.  My first VCR cost $900.  I can get a Blu Ray/DVD player for less than $100 today, and I don’t really need it anymore because I can watch nearly anything with streaming services. 

That technology needs to be available to everyone.  We could easily ensure everyone has access to the internet.  With that access, people could make use of all that Artificial Intelligence is already beginning to do for us.  It won’t be long before AI can do nearly all the work of human beings, freeing all of us, and not just those who are sufficiently wealthy or sufficiently impoverished that they aren’t forced to do a Bullshit Job to make ends meet. 

Why, I wonder, do Bullshit Jobs exist?

Last night, for example, while in the midst of a fascinating conversation I was having with other writers from different parts of the country, my internet died.  Shockingly enough, I called Cox Internet to find out why that happened.  Of course, I got the automated response first.  Press 1 for this and 2 for that.  Okay.  That wasted my time, but no one else’s. 

Then I had to get transferred from one human to the next and the next and the next before I got an answer that could more easily have been given by the AI.  There was an outage they expected to have repaired by 9:48 PM.  When that didn’t happen, I used the text feature, and again I went through the automated response before I got to a supposed human being whose job was to thank me for my patience and tell me there is an outage, and the new time was expected to be 1:48 AM.  The same thing happened this morning.  I went through the same process to learn that it would be 5:48 AM.

People were paid to do what any decent AI should have been able to do.  And I think they secretly knew it.

Why would Corporate America pay people to waste their time and mine?  Graeber has some ideas on this:

The answer clearly isn’t economic: it’s moral and political. The ruling class has figured out that a happy and productive population with free time on their hands is a mortal danger (think of what started to happen when this even began to be approximated in the ‘60s). And, on the other hand, the feeling that work is a moral value in itself, and that anyone not willing to submit themselves to some kind of intense work discipline for most of their waking hours deserves nothing, is extraordinarily convenient for them.

— https://www.atlasofplaces.com/essays/on-the-phenomenon-of-bullshit-jobs/

We could free people from these Bullshit Jobs by dropping the mythology of the Puritan Work Ethic.  I don’t think anyone believes anymore that hard work and wealth have any more than a nodding acquaintance with one another.  We have more than enough resources to give everyone the life I have without requiring them to be mostly dead to get it.  Why not use those resources to help ourselves instead of employing our people to do nothing of any importance?

The economist, John Maynard Keynes, predicted in 1930 that by now we would all be working 15-hour weeks because that’s all that would be necessary to accomplish what needs to be done.  He believed that we would solve The Economic Problem, and that technology would free us from labor.  It would create the problem of what we would do with our leisure time, but he pointed out that the wealthy were, even then, scouts in that undiscovered country.  We could easily solve that problem.  He looked forward to being able to do away with the endless pursuit of wealth.

When the accumulation of wealth is no longer of high social importance, there will be great changes in the code of morals. We shall be able to rid ourselves of many of the pseudo-moral principles which have hag-ridden us for two hundred years, by which we have exalted some of the most distasteful of human qualities into the position of the highest virtues. We shall be able to afford to dare to assess the money-motive at its true value. The love of money as a possession -as distinguished from the love of money as a means to the enjoyments and realities of life -will be recognised for what it is, a somewhat disgusting morbidity, one of those semi criminal, semi-pathological propensities which one hands over with a shudder to the specialists in mental disease. All kinds of social customs and economic practices, affecting the distribution of wealth and of economic rewards and penalties, which we now maintain at all costs, however distasteful and unjust they may be in themselves, because they are tremendously useful in promoting the accumulation of capital, we shall then be free, at last, to discard.

http://www.econ.yale.edu/smith/econ116a/keynes1.pdf

Our social growth is lagging far behind our technological progress.  We should certainly have accomplished his predictions by now.  We would have, but we’ve gone out of our way to cement into the consciousness that the suffering of pointless labor and Bullshit Jobs is virtuous.  We need to serve some master, somewhere.  For some it is some form of God.  For others it is the Corporate Masters.  For some it is both. 

I am among the few who serve neither Master.  It’s long passed the time for the rest of the world to join me.  You’re welcome to serve God, in whatever form you believe He exists, but we need to stop serving the corporate masters who want to steal the minutes of your life.  We have the resources.  We have the technology.  We have the knowledge.  We lack only the will.  I’m hoping I might have ignited your will to change the world, and that you’ll ignite someone else’s desire to be Free.

The key to finding Joy, for me, is loving what I have.  It is the freedom that comes from being master of my own time.  I would be even more joyous if everyone had what I do.  What I have is something many people much wealthier than I will ever be will never have.  I have Enough.

    Posted on by Fred

    What We Deserve

    Judgment is a tricky issue.  We absolutely need to be able to make judgments, even about people.  We decide with whom we will be friends, who we will date, who we will marry.  We decide what people deserve from us.  We are required, simply by nature of being alive, to make those judgments.  I have no problem with that.

    What infuriates me is when we believe we get to decide who deserves to share in the bounty of 200,000 years of human progress.  It begins with the idea that we have to earn a living.  The easiest response to that is to call that what it is: Bullshit.

    Let’s begin where we must certainly agree: no one asked to be born.  We didn’t decide where or when or to whom to be born.  The most of which we can be accused is having been the fastest sperm, and I don’t think sperm are sentient, so there really is no blame to be assessed for someone having had the unmitigated temerity to take up space on this planet. 

    Some of us were born in ideal circumstances, others were born in atrocious conditions.  We didn’t choose that.  Some of us overcame unimaginable abuse and neglect, and we rose to better lives.  Others had all of our needs met from the moment of our birth and went on to screw it all up. 

    I don’t know why someone became who they are today.  And you know what?  Neither do you.  You can’t.  There is no way we know enough about someone’s life to determine what went wrong or what went right.  We don’t know if it was dumb luck or intelligent use of the resources someone had available to them. 

    Everyone, from the person I love most in the world to someone whose very existence makes me cringe, deserves to be allowed to live safely, be properly fed, and have all the medical attention required to keep them healthy.  This is true whether they have more money than Elon Musk or less money than the guy outside of Circle K whose body odor offends even those of us whose olfactory organs have been destroyed by years of smoking.  He’s probably wearing clothes Goodwill rejected.  And he is at a place in his life where the best he can do to get by is stand there and ask someone for some money.  Did you think this is what he wanted to do?  Did you think when he was a little boy he used to dream of having this life? 

    ***

    20-year-old Esther is holding her 4-year-old daughter, Emily, in her arms.  Esther is standing in line at The Department of Economic Security.  There are 11 people ahead of her.  They’ve been here for an hour already.  It’s 7:30 AM.  DES opens at 7, but the line outside the door usually starts forming before 6. 

    Emily is getting cranky and wants to get down.  “I need to go peepee.”

    Esther can’t let Emily go alone, obviously.  She looks at the line behind her.  There are more than 20 people in it who didn’t get here as early as Esther. 

    Emily begins to kick and cry.  “Mama!  I have to go peepee now!!!”

    Esther rubs her daughter’s back lovingly.  “Can you hold it just a little while like a big girl?”  Esther’s arms are starting to ache.  She wants to put Emily down at least as much as Emily wants to get down, but she doesn’t feel safe here.

    A man wearing an army jacket that Goodwill would reject, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, is watching them from one of the plastic chairs.  He smiles.  “Want me to take her for you, ma’am?”

    ***

    Why don’t we guarantee the basics of survival for, at the absolute minimum, all the citizens of our own country?  This is where my passion is ignited. 

    We justify homelessness, hunger, and poverty with the convenient capitalist myth that people deserve those conditions.  No, they don’t!

    Well, if they wanted money, they should have….

    Well, if they wanted money, they shouldn’t have…

    Whenever someone says that, I have to remember that hitting them won’t help anyone.  I’m not entirely certain I can even make a fist anymore, so I’m not one for whom violence would be a good choice even if I didn’t oppose it on moral grounds.  Nevertheless, I find it infuriating.

    How the hell does anyone know enough about someone’s life to decide they deserve to be homeless or hungry?  Do we know why they made the choices they did?  Do we know that, in their situation, we would have made different ones? 

    ***

    “I feel for you, ma’am.  I’m awful sorry we need to do this.  It’s the law, though.  Your landlord won the eviction.  You have to vacate the premises.  We can give you a few minutes to gather any property you might want to take with you.”

    “My daughter is four.  I paid what I could.  It’s not like I’m not working.  I mean…” Esther looked down.  She didn’t want the deputy to see her crying.

    “I understand, ma’am.  It’s not fair.  It’s not right.  It’s the law, though, and we have to obey it.”

    Emily came into the room holding her teddy bear.  “I need to go peepee.”  She looked up at the deputies in the doorway.  She waved.  “Hi police people.  I’m Emily!”

    ***

    I have some amateur philosopher friends who find great joy in expounding on the idea that Free Will doesn’t exist, and that it’s physically impossible for it even to be considered a reasonable idea.  Maybe they’re right.  I don’t know.  I do know that I like to believe that whatever it is that makes me Fred, the combination of my genetic makeup, my upbringing, all the experiences I’ve ever had, and the limitations and capabilities of my body have combined to make me a person who gets to choose what I’m doing at any given moment.  I like to believe we all get to choose.  I could be wrong.  Perhaps I’m only deceiving myself when I think I’m making a decision.

    But, much of what we choose is undoubtedly out of our control.  I can’t, for example, choose to go to the Moon, climb Mount Everest, run The Boston Marathon, or write better than Shakespeare.  I could make choices that might move me closer to some of these things in the future, but at this moment, none of those options are available to me.  And this is the only moment in which I get to choose.  Life is a collection of moments, and the present is the only place where we have any semblance of control.  And sometimes we make the best choice we can at any given moment, and it still fails.

    I play Texas Hold ‘Em on Facebook frequently.  Poker is all about choices.  I try to make the best ones I can at each moment. I’ll call someone’s All In bet when I have pocket aces, and I’ll still lose.  It’s not because I’m bad or stupid or evil.  It’s because what appeared to be the best choice didn’t work out the way I reasonably expected it would. 

    Life is like that.  People who make decisions I think are wrong or stupid sometimes win.  People who make decisions I think are right or brilliant sometimes lose.  Much of it is out of our control.  In fact, most of it is.

    ***

    “Esther, you can’t come into work like this.  You’re a good waitress.  Your customers are more than satisfied, but… I don’t want to be rude, I really don’t… but… Esther you smell horrible.  No one wants to order food in a restaurant where the employees… well… stink.”

    “If I can get enough hours, I can get a place where I can shower.  I’m doing my best.  I really am.”

    “I’m sure you are.  You’re a good girl.  You really are.  You just can’t work here anymore.”

    ***

    And because we’ve decided money is what matters most in the world, some people suffer while others live in unimaginable opulence.  Over what, exactly?  Something we invented to determine who is good and who isn’t?  We all know many people who have more money than they could ever spend, who are not good people in any meaningful way, and people who have almost no money at all who are wonderful human beings.  To make judgments about someone based on how many little green pieces of cotton and linen they’ve collected is at once patently stupid, unnecessarily cruel, demonstrably inaccurate, and utterly immoral. 

    We make reasonable judgments about people based on who they are.  If we would like everyone to become the best versions of themselves, we need to give them the freedom to find out who that is without worrying about survival. 

    Hierarchy on needs pyramid concept pointing finger

    It’s Maslow’s Pyramid.  We have advanced far enough as a species to guarantee everyone’s physiological and safety needs are met.  Why should we deny those to anyone?  There are six times as many empty homes as there are homeless people.  We dump between 25 and 40% of the food we produce before it even gets to anyone’s plate.  And yet we’re okay with a 4-year-old girl sleeping under a tarp with her mother?  No, this is not a failure on the part of the mother.  It is a failure on the part of the civilization.

    But she could get help from all these programs. If she’s too stupid to do that…

    Go ahead… finish that sentence.  If she doesn’t know how to make use of those programs the little girl should shiver all night?  I decline to believe anyone with a single molecule of empathy could think that. 

    Have you ever tried to make use of any of these programs?  Getting food stamps is exhausting.  This assumes you know how to do all you need to be able to do.  I’m an educated man.  I have a Bachelor’s Degree in English and Education.  And it is exceptionally difficult for me to figure out how to get the help I need.  How is someone who is illiterate supposed to do that?  The waiting list for a place that lets you live there for a third of your income is not less than 3 years.  Some lists take five years. 

    ***

    Esther is embarrassed when she gets to the front of the line.  The lady on the other side of the window backs away a moment.  The smell coming from Emily is even more offensive than Esther’s.  They hadn’t gone to the restroom.  Emily is kicking and crying. 

    “How may I help you?”

    “We need to get food stamps.”

    The lady pushes a card toward Esther.  “Take this and have a seat.  When they call your number, you can go apply.”

    “Do you know how long it will be?  I kind of need to take the little one to the restroom.”

    “No idea, ma’am.  Sorry.”

    ***

    The idea that some humans deserve more of the advantages those who came before us have made possible, and other people deserve to live like the lesser primates is obscene.  We are the only animal on the planet that has to pay for our right to exist.  Lions don’t charge 7.5% interest on tonight’s zebra banquet.  Earthworms don’t pay for the right to slither through the dirt.  Most species work together to ensure their own survival.  They do what they can to ensure they all thrive. 

    Many of our species live in fear.  We’re afraid that someone may be better than us.  We have an insatiable need to be better than someone else.  “I may not be perfect, but at least I’m not…”  That sentence usually ends in the betrayal of someone’s bigotry. 

    ***

    “So,” says the man behind the desk handing papers to Esther, “we’ll just need you to bring proof of your earned income –”

    “I lost my job.”

    “And your little girl’s birth certificate.”

    “It’s gone.  I didn’t think to get it when we were evicted.”

    “And your bank statements.”

    “They closed my account.”

    He looked up.  “I don’t think there’s a lot we can do for you, ma’am.  I’m sorry.”

    “How am I supposed to feed Emily?”

    “There’s probably a charity somewhere.  You could ask them for help.  I have some phone numbers.” He opened his desk drawer.

    “I don’t have a phone.”

    “See, we just can’t prove that you’re eligible.  We can’t just give food stamps to everyone.  We’d be broke.”

    “I know about being broke.”

    ***

    We have become immune to the hope for a better world.  My hope is that AI will free us from our own shortcomings.  It will do all the work and allow the rest of us to spend our time trying to improve ourselves and the rest of humanity. 

    ***

    Esther emerges from the building into the sunlight that nearly blinds her.  She walks to the bench, sits down, and cries on her sleeping daughter’s shoulder.

    Posted on by Fred · 2 Comments

    Offensensitivity

    I was surprised that Microsoft Word didn’t underline my title.  I thought it was a term only a few people know.  Evidently it has become enough of a part of the lexicon that it is accepted by software.  That’s a certain sign of acceptance. 

    The word was coined by Berkeley Breathed on my 20th birthday in a wonderful Bloom County comic strip.  I would love to reproduce it for you here, but you know I’ll never get by with that.  You’ll have to deal with my description of it.

    A large group of people at a bus stop are complaining about the things that offend them.  These include penguins, dirty words, polish jokes, stereotypes, TV sex, a sign, being offended by the sign, nudes, gay people, the comic itself, and finally, life.  Opus the Penguin is left alone on the bench, and he says, “Offensensitivity.” 

    Acceptance seems to be a problem for many of us.  We seem to have a difficult time handling ideas that differ from ours.  This was illustrated graphically for me this morning when one of The People On The Porch was offended by a meme I posted concerning Ten Non-Commandments.  I happened to see it on someone else’s page, and I like the ideas in it.  I recently offended someone else with my essay “Unwarranted Selfishness.”  Wanting to avoid offending anyone with my words, I went for what I thought were inoffensive memes.  I was mistaken.  The 10 Non-Commandments Meme offends some people.

    A Google search reveals it’s become a standard part of Atheism.  Be prepared to be offended:  I’m an Atheist.  If you’re just finding that out, this is either the first episode you’ve ever heard of this show, or you’ve been sleeping through the others.  So, it’s hardly a surprise I found these ideas line up with mine.  Here they are:

    1. Be open-minded and be willing to alter your beliefs with new evidence.
    2. Strive to understand what is most likely to be true, not to believe what you wish to be true.
    3. The scientific method is the most reliable way of understanding the natural world.
    4. Every person has the right to control their body.
    5. God is not necessary to be a good person or to live a full and meaningful life.
    6. Be mindful of the consequences of all your actions and recognize that you must take responsibility for them.
    7. Treat others as you would want them to treat you, and can reasonably expect them to want to be treated. Think about their perspective.
    8. We have the responsibility to consider others, including future generations.
    9. There is no one right way to live.
    10. Leave the world a better place than you found it.

    — https://carm.org/atheism/atheist-ten-commandments/

    These are all, in my view, excellent proposals.  At no point do they suggest that disagreeing with them makes someone stupid, or intolerant, or even wrong.  They are specifically NOT Commandments; they are ideas, they are recommendations.  That’s it.

    That offended someone.  He saw it as an attack on Judeo-Christian beliefs.  It really isn’t. 

    This set off much discussion on my page, and it turns out no one else found anything offensive in them.  I was surprised this person did, because I have always known him to be tolerant of differences.  I have to wonder if something else happened and these were simply a trigger. 

    There seems to be something virtuous in being offended.  Nearly everyone likes to jump on that train.  The latest cause of offense is Drag Queens. 

    The idea that someone wearing clothing often considered to be most appropriate for the opposite gender might read a book to children is deeply offensive to some people.  I suppose they make the unwarranted assumption that there is something overtly sexual about this act.  There isn’t.  It’s a form of Art. 

    Perhaps you don’t enjoy that form of Art.  I can understand that.  I don’t enjoy rap, and there is precious little country music I like.  I’m not a fan of Jackson Pollock either.  I am completely content for anyone else to like these things, though.  It’s not hurting me.  I probably wouldn’t recommend taking your 5-year-old to an Eminem concert, but as it turns out, I’m not the child’s parent.  You are.  I won’t substitute my judgment about what is best for your child for yours.  Even I am not that arrogant.  Your child; your call. 

    I’ve seen people asking WHY Drag Queens WANT to read stories to children.  They seem to be implying Drag Queens are pedophiles.  Here’s the thing:  I read stories to children for most of my life.  I promise I’m not a pedophile.  I’ve known hundreds of other teachers who also read to children.  They weren’t pedophiles, either.  There are, oddly enough, other reasons one might want to read a book to a child.  I’ve been begging my best friend to get around to getting married and becoming a mother because I desperately want to read Dr. Seuss to her kids before I expire.  Perhaps I want to be part of the reason they learn to love to read.  Perhaps I enjoy watching their expressions as they experience Green Eggs and Ham. 

    The advantage of Drag Queen Story Hour is that it allows children to learn something at least as important as what they learn from the books.  They learn people can be different from us and still be nice people. 

    Interestingly, while so many people were busy being offended by Drag Queens without a single scrap of evidence that they present a danger to children, I posted this article on my page.  Only 3 of my 2,378 Facebook friends had any reaction to it.

    https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/maryland-ag-documents-widespread-sexual-abuse-least-600-victims-baltim-rcna78378

    The article on my page was from a Baltimore newspaper, but now they’re calling it Subscriber Only Content, so I’m using NBC.  It’s the same set of facts. 

    The Maryland Attorney General’s Office released a report of more than 600 cases of child sex abuse within the Catholic Church.  I heard nothing about anyone being offended by this. 

    “Time and again, members of the Church’s hierarchy resolutely refused to acknowledge allegations of child sexual abuse for as long as possible,” according to the report.

    “When denial became impossible, Church leadership would remove abusers from the parish or school, sometimes with promises that they would have no further contact with children. Church documents reveal with disturbing clarity that the Archdiocese was more concerned with avoiding scandal and negative publicity than it was with protecting children.”

    If we’re going to bother to be offended, let’s choose things that are truly offensive.  This isn’t close to the first time the Catholic Church has been involved in these obscenities.  We began hearing about it decades ago.  Priests, however, get a free pass because we really need to be worried about Drag Queens. 

    This isn’t the only case of misplaced needs to feel offended.  Books are being banned left and right.  And while the First Amendment protects our right to freedom of speech, of which books are an excellent example, the thought that children might encounter a thought some parent, somewhere, doesn’t like is cause for pulling To Kill a Mockingbird off the shelf along with dozens of other great pieces of literature.  Zero children have been killed by books. 

    If, on the other hand, anyone wants to discuss enacting some form of control over the guns that have become the number one cause of death for children, we will hear screams of “But the Second Amendment!!!”  The Constitution applies selectively, at best, for some people. 

    When three Tennessee lawmakers participated in a protest about guns following yet another mass shooting in Nashville, they were ousted from the floor for “disorderly behavior.”  Two of the three, both Black people, were expelled. 

    https://www.politico.com/news/2023/04/06/tennessee-house-expulsion-vote-lawmakers-00090829

    The obvious racism doesn’t offend you?

    The final example of absurd offense being taken is almost unbelievable.  Michelangelo’s Statue of David got a principal fired. She allowed a photograph of one of the most beautiful works of Art ever created to be shown in her school. 

    What’s so offensive?  I assume it’s that one can see David’s penis.  Breaking News: something in the vicinity of half of the population of the world has one of these.  I promise your father had one.  It’s not exactly a State Secret.

    While we get offended by this, we’re fine with even Disney movies showing people dying.  Find me a cop show that doesn’t show people getting shot.  If we show the love that is the beginning of life, it’s considered pornography, and it’s among the most offensive things we can portray.  We ignore the fact that children are shivering in the streets tonight, and we find reasons not to be offended by that.  We convince ourselves that somehow “they deserve it.” 

    Let’s guide ourselves, once again, with that vitally important question: “Who’s better off?”

    Who’s better off for denying children the opportunity to see a great work of Art, read a great book, or see an artist reading to children?  Who’s better off for getting angry with me for having beliefs that differ from theirs?  For me, the answer to all these questions is no one.

    Who’s better off for enacting some control over who gets the types of guns that kill children?  Well, for one, any child who doesn’t get shot who would have otherwise.  Who’s better off for stopping the Catholic Church from abusing children?  I would say, at the least, the children spared that torture.  I don’t think it’s too wild a leap of the imagination to suggest their loved ones are better off too.  Their child didn’t get shot or sexually abused.  It’s a fair bet stopping the sexual abuse can help to stop future sexual abuse by those who were abused. 

    I promise it is never my intention to offend anyone.  If you choose to be offended, I’m sorry you feel that way.  If I’m going to be a writer, I have to be authentic.  Anything less is a disservice to myself and to the world. 

    I know people who live to offend.  They take pleasure in it.  They make a living being offensive.  That’s not who I am, nor is it who I wish to be.  I can’t, however, avoid offending anyone ever.  I don’t intend to try.

    I’m going to choose more carefully what will offend me.  I hope you’ll do the same.

    Posted on by Fred · 1 Comment

    Diabetes and Depression

    Understanding those who are outwardly like us is difficult enough.  Understanding people who are significantly different from us is an almost impossible task.  Today I’m going to help you understand some Diabetics.  I wouldn’t dream of speaking for all of them.  We’re all unique, and all our struggles are our own.  No one shares all of them.  There are obstacles some face that others don’t.  But there are a few that are common to all of us.  And one struggle that Diabetics are more likely to face than other people is Depression. 

    I did an episode about Diabetes and Depression combined with Autism about a year ago.  There is worthwhile information there, and I recommend reading or listening to it if this is an interesting topic for you.  The podcast and the blog post are linked in the transcript.

    Diabetes and Depression and Autism, Oh My!

    Diabetics are at least twice as likely to suffer from Depression as those who don’t have this chronic disease.  Why is this?  First, there may be neurological reasons involved.  It’s not just that we’re “feeling sorry for ourselves.” 

    It’s thought that alterations in brain chemistry tied to diabetes may be related to the development of depression.  For example, damage resulting from diabetic neuropathy or blocked blood vessels in the brain may contribute to the development of depression in people with diabetes.

    Conversely, changes in the brain due to depression may cause an increased risk for complications.  Studies have shown that people with depression are at higher risk for diabetes complications — but it hasn’t been determined if depression increases the risk for complications, or vice versa.

    https://www.healthline.com/health/type-2-diabetes/depression#research

    At the same time, there are elements of Diabetes, itself, that can cause Depression.  There is the undeniable fact that if we make a mistake, we can die.  That’s something those constructing a skyscraper must face, but when they’re done for the day, they can go home.  The stress is probably more intense, but it doesn’t last as long.  The possibility of dying is with us all day, every day.  The best we can hope for is to keep our Diabetes sufficiently well controlled that the stress becomes less intense.

    The inescapable fact is that if we want to live, we become slaves to our Diabetes.  It demands choices we may not always want to make at any given moment.

    There’s also a sense of alienation that can often accompany Diabetes.  We’re clearly different.  You don’t see it the way you would a broken leg or a scar on our face, but we’re the ones who are supposed to choose only the right foods to eat.  If we do, we look different from those around us.  If we don’t, we may get shamed for it.  This isn’t something I just invented. 

    For example, people with type 2 diabetes intentionally choose unhealthy food because they do not want to refuse what is offered by others around them,15 or delay insulin dosing and blood glucose monitoring because they are concerned about the reactions of others.13 14 16

    — https://drc.bmj.com/content/10/6/e003001

    That shame, itself, can be deadly.  It was something with which I dealt successfully, I believe, almost immediately when I was diagnosed.  I was a teacher 30 years ago when my doctor tested my blood sugar and told me, as matter-of-factly as if she was telling me it might rain today in Seattle, that I was Diabetic.  I felt terror in that first moment.  My only experience with Diabetes at that point was seeing my best friend from high school, a Brittle Diabetic named David, flopping on the ground like a fish that had just been tossed on the deck of a boat.  I didn’t like the thought of that happening to me.  Although Diabetes has all but killed me nearly 2 dozen times, I’ve never had that experience.  I’m grateful for that.

    Dave hid his Diabetes from most of his friends, or at least he tried.  His mother told me about it the first time I ever went to their house.  Dave acted like it was no big deal.  I think it embarrassed him.  Getting him to eat when he ought to was often a difficult task. 

    When I was diagnosed, the first thing I did when I got back to school was tell everyone there.  All my colleagues knew.  I set up students whose job was to get the nurse and call 911 if I lost consciousness.  I was still enjoying being alive in those days.  I had no interest in dying.  I was still young and trying my best to be in love with my wife. 

    I saw no reason to be embarrassed.  Neither should you.  We didn’t do something to become Diabetic.  Even if we did, there’s nothing to be done about it now, and we still deserve to live as long and as well as we can.  The list of things of which I’m ashamed is long, but having a disease isn’t on it. 

    If you have Diabetic friends, please help them by understanding their Depression is almost certainly not self-pity.  It is both biological and situational.  There’s little they can do about it.  At the same time…

    Diabetes often seems to be an invitation to the world to tell us how to live our lives.  These are good, caring people who love us.  We have to be grateful.  Nevertheless, it’s more than annoying.  We’re shamed for the choices we make, and if we don’t make the choices others would like us to make, we’re told it’s our own fault.  Their concern for us instantly evaporates.  It’s one more thing about which they never need to worry again. 

    This is among the reasons I never leave my house.  At least if people on Facebook say such things, I have the option to ignore or delete it.  When they’re right in front of me, I’m required to listen, and I would rather leap off The Golden Gate Bridge than be told how to live my life.  I’m divorced… twice… and that’s probably a lot of the reason for my marital failures.

    I’ve found a few things that help me deal with my Depression.  The first is to take stock of my situation in the most objective terms possible.  I ask myself the following questions:

    1.  Do I have a safe place to live? 

    The answer to this is not always yes.  When I know I’m not in a safe place, I know where I need to focus the energy I still have left.  That always has to be our first priority.  Is there a way out?  Where can you go to be safe?  This is a difficult problem, and I don’t have an easy solution for you.  In my own case, I had friends who wouldn’t allow me to be in danger, and several of them worked together to get me here.  I always remember how lucky I am.  This is a big part of why I want to change the world.  No one should be required to live in a situation in which they feel they could be in jeopardy.

    When the answer is yes, I can move on to the next question.  I like to stop, though, and take a moment to recognize how fortunate I am to have that much security.

    •  Do I have enough food to eat? 

      Again, the answer to this has not always been yes.  When I don’t have enough to eat, this has to be the next priority.  When you’re Diabetic, it’s not just a question of being hungry.  It’s a matter of life and death.  I’m fortunate that I have enough people in my life who love me so that I can usually solve this problem by asking someone for help. 

      Yes, it’s humiliating, but I remind myself that my friends would rather give me $100 than have to attend my Memorial, or if you’re my best friend, have to haul my dead body out of this house.  I don’t smell all that great in the best of times; I’m probably going to reek if I’ve been lying here dead for a couple of days.  $100 is a cheap price to pay for avoiding all that.

      If you have no one to ask for food, there are always charities available that will get you something to eat.  I understand how horrible it is to ask them for help, but sometimes there’s nothing else that can be done.  You’re not quite ready to die, yet.  There are still possibilities.  We don’t get to give up until we’ve exhausted all our options.
    • Do I have all the insulin and other medications I need to survive?

      This can be a more difficult problem to solve.  I don’t have a lot of friends who have insulin sitting in their refrigerator who can drop some off for me.  That said, one of The People on The Porch did exactly that when I was running out of Lantus.  I still don’t know how he worked it out, and I don’t need to know.  I just know I was grateful. 

      It can’t always be solved without enough money.  If prescriptions aren’t handled properly, insurance may not cover it.  Sometimes you need to hope you can find the cash to buy it.  Fortunately, a few companies are doing what they can to lower prices. 

      If you can’t obtain insulin any other way, it can come down to having to go to the Emergency Room before you fall into DKA.  They have to keep you alive whether you have money or not. 
    • Do I have a future beyond simply maintaining this meat sack I call a body?

      This is the one that makes the decision to keep going possible.  In my case, I know I can always write.  I know I can still make a little difference for someone, somewhere, and this is sufficient reason to keep going. 

      You can ask what it is you can still do in life that will matter.  I can’t tell you your purpose.  I promise you have one though.  Find that and move forward.

    Another method for dealing with Depression is to accept its existence, recognize it’s a feeling just like any other, and know that, just like any other feeling, it will pass.  Sometimes it’s okay to wallow in it for a little while.  I’ve written some pretty good stuff when my Depression was at its peak.  And the act of writing helps defeat the lethargy that is a feature of Depression.

    The last method I have is to find someone you can talk to about it.  One of the best people I know is frequently attacked by a sense of doom and despair.  She knows she can call me when that happens.  And she does.  And we get through it together.  I’m fortunate to have so many people in my life who love me and will talk to me when I need to get some of the sadness out.

    If you’re Diabetic, keep in mind that you’re not alone.  There are more than half a billion of us running around.  You’re not the only one walking that tightrope.  There are people with whom you can talk, and there’s no more shame in medication or counseling for your Depression than there is in taking insulin or talking to your Diabetes Educator.  You wouldn’t walk a tightrope without professional guidance. 



    Diabetes is a difficult disease to handle.  There are things we can do to help ourselves.  There are things others can do to help us.  Get the sort of help that’s right for you.  You’re still a valuable person.  You matter to others.  The world still needs whatever you have to contribute.  Just get through another night, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings.  If no one else has told you today, it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from me.  I love you. 

    Posted on by Fred · 2 Comments

    Facing Death Daily: Diabetes 102

    A good friend, who is also a Front Porch Podcast Producer and an Unofficial Patron Saint, asked me to write about what it’s like to face death daily.  That sounds melodramatic, and I don’t intend it that way.  I’m not a police officer, firefighter, or member of the military.  People don’t make any special effort to kill me.  I’m just not that important.  I have little of value to steal.  The studio setup would probably get you a few dollars at a Pawn Shop.  There’s certainly not enough to risk going to prison for the rest of your life, or, worse, having Speedy Shine jump on you.  If you try to pick him up, he’ll probably bite you.  We’re working on that.  I have some PetSmart virtual training coming up in a couple of weeks.

    Nevertheless, I do, in fact, have to recognize that if I lose balance, I can die before I even finish writing this episode.  We covered the details of diabetes last week, and I’m not going to go through them again beyond the context you need to understand this.  Please refer to “The Tightrope of Diabetes,” which is Episode 197 if you’re scrolling through the show looking for it. 

    Diabetes is not the only danger I face. I haven’t been able to feel my feet in nearly seven years.  I can fall, and if I’m not careful, I will.  I might be lucky enough not to hurt myself too seriously, and perhaps I’ll be able to get up again, but that is by no means certain.  I no longer have the rubber bones we all seem to have when we’re toddlers.  Mine are old and brittle, ready to snap at the earliest opportunity. 

    I live alone, so if I’m unable to get up, unless I have my phone on me, I will just lie there until someone decides to come and check on me.  Stephanie, my best friend, certainly would, but it could be as much as 24 hours before she did.  In that time, it would be simple to slip into either DKA or a coma.  Either way I would be equally dead. 

    DKA, for a brief review, is Diabetic Ketoacidosis.  This occurs when your blood sugar gets too high, (at least 250 milligrams per deciliter, which is the measurement used in America, and 11.36 millimoles per liter in The UK) and your body begins to throw off ketones.  I usually need to get above 400 before I’m in trouble.  You may be different.  These can be measured by peeing onto a special strip.  The darker the strip turns, the worse shape you’re in.  DKA will dehydrate you, and if you don’t stop it in time, you will begin to vomit, thereby further dehydrating yourself.  Without hospitalization, you will surely die an ugly death.  When they take you to the hospital you’re unreasonably thirsty, and they won’t give you any water because you’ll just throw it up and make things worse.  They hook you up to IVs to start repairing all the damage.  I can’t begin to tell you how little fun it is to be hooked up to IVs. 

    If your blood sugar gets too low, (below 70 mg/dL is dangerous, below 54 mg/dL is severe) you’re no longer able to think coherently.  While I know, right now, that if my numbers drop, I need to eat, when it gets too low, I may not know that anymore.  When it gets low enough, I’ll slip into a coma.  I had a friend who died this way.  My former roommates saved me from that several times.  I live alone with Speedy Shine now. 

    I’m not overstating the case when I say I face the possibility of death daily. 

    My friend wanted to know how I manage this.  I think it’s worth discussing because, once again, I’m not unique in this struggle.  There are more than half a billion of us on Earth right now.  One of us dies from diabetes every 5 seconds.  There is a wealth of diabetes information in the link below.

    Home

    First, for me, it’s about acceptance.  I’m the least Christian person you probably know, but there is one prayer I love above all others.  Just as “Shine,” by Sara Niemietz and Snuffy Walden, is my favorite hymn, this is my favorite prayer.

    Attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr, Lutheran theologian (1892–1971)

    God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
    the Courage to change the things I can,
    and the Wisdom to know the difference.

    I can’t tell you a thing about God.  You can find billions of others for that.  I can tell you, though, that serenity, courage, and wisdom are essential for me.

    Serenity

    The first step is accepting that I can’t change my diabetes.  I checked on Amazon, and it turns out they don’t have a new pancreas to replace mine.  They don’t have new legs to replace mine, either, so I need to continue to be as careful as I can. 

    Death is one of the few things that truly is inevitable.  The healthiest human on Earth, with all the best medical care, is still going to expire within less than 2 centuries.  There is nothing to be done to change that… at least right now.  I keep hoping for a world in which science finds a way for us to all live indefinitely.  I believe it’s possible.  I don’t believe we’re there yet.  I don’t believe we’ll make it within my lifetime.  I’ve heard of a little baby named Layla.  She’s the granddaughter of my coach.  I hope she gets to live indefinitely.  I hope all her ancestors will, too.

    “I do not fear death.  I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”

    ― Mark Twain

    I can’t find evidence Twain actually said this.  Lots of sites attribute it to him, but I was unable to find the book, or lecture, or letter in which he said it.  Whether he said it or not, the point is worth considering.  Death is a natural state. 

    I feared it when I was a child.  I used to have dreams of lying in my coffin, completely unable to move, while worms worked their way inside it and inevitably consumed me, excruciatingly slowly, bit by bit.  As I grew up and began to understand death a little more clearly, it dawned on me that I couldn’t possibly suffer in the way I did in so many nightmares.  There will be no Fred there to experience it.  Whatever it is that makes me Fred will be absent when my heart stops beating and my brain shuts down.  I will be a computer that has been turned off.  I can’t be turned on again, regardless of the Genesis song.  (If you haven’t ever heard “Turn It On Again,” you really should find it on Spotify.)  I’m not Teddy.  All that said, I’m still hoping to be cremated.  I would like my ashes dumped into San Francisco Bay near the place we end up putting my parents’ ashes when the time comes. 

    There’s a line from Katherine Hepburn has in On Golden Pond…

    Oh… it feels odd.  Cold, I guess.  Not that bad, really.  Not so frightening.  Almost comforting.  Not such a bad place to go.  I don’t know!

    — Ernest Thompson from his screenplay, 1981

    I feel that way.  I know it will happen, and to a certain extent it will be a relief.  I can’t get in trouble anymore.  I don’t have to worry about whether anyone likes my writing or listens to my show.  I don’t need to seek any longer the sexual satisfaction that diabetes has stolen from me.  And from that, I draw…

    High line walker between two rocks concept of risk taking and challenge

    Courage

    I’m not a fool.  I recognize that I’m in peril every day.  While I was writing this my Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) went off to tell me my blood sugar was perilously low.  I should eat dinner, but I’m deep into my writing session, and I don’t want to stop right now.  I went to the bathroom and got some glucose tablets.  They’ll buy me enough time to finish this… I hope.  I hate to stop when the words are ready to come out.  If I stop them, I can’t necessarily just turn on the faucet again.

    Courage isn’t being without fear.  It’s being able to recognize that fear and keep it from keeping you from doing what you know you should be doing.  In my case, what I should be doing is writing and recording as much as I can as quickly as I can.  I want to make all the difference I can before I can’t anymore.  I live by the words of Emily Dickinson:

    “If I can stop one heart from breaking”

    By: Emily Dickinson

    If I can stop one heart from breaking,
    I shall not live in vain;
    If I can ease one life the aching,
    Or cool one pain,
    Or help one fainting robin
    Unto his nest again,
    I shall not live in vain.

    Emily Dickinson

    I don’t have any heroism in the traditional sense in me.  I won’t be rescuing a baby from a burning building.  I couldn’t even get inside of a building of any sort without some kind of help.  The only thing I can do to improve the world is what I’m doing every single week on this show.  I’m talking about ways to improve the world in the hope that someone, somewhere, will respond.  I’m hoping someone will make the changes I can’t. 

    Supposedly, Albert Camus said, “To believe you can change the world is insanity; failure to try is cowardice.”  I can’t verify that, however, and I have only my late father’s word for it.  Once again, though, it doesn’t matter who said it.  The idea is correct. 

    I have no more chance at success than either Atticus Finch or Hemingway’s Santiago.  And I have the same moral responsibility to try. 

    I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand.  It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.

    –Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

    Here I am seeing it through.  That’s what courage is to me.

    Wisdom

    This is the most difficult to obtain.  It’s not simply possession of a set of facts.  It involves… oh my… I need to go for a bit.

    ***

    Good morning.  I had to stop last night because, even with the glucose tablets, my blood sugar kept dropping, and I was no longer able to see the screen properly.  My brain began to shut down. 

    I grabbed a candy bar.  That should have moved my blood sugar up considerably.  The reading dropped even farther.  I got down to 50, and I felt my heart rate increasing.  That may well have been fear.  I couldn’t think straight at that moment. 

    I finally made a bowl of cereal.  That usually forces me to take a lot of insulin to keep from going up too high, and I knew that, but I did it anyway.  I wasn’t going to die if I could help it.

    When I began to see colorful spots in front of my eyes, I thought seriously about calling 911.  I don’t want to overreact if I can avoid it.  Even with Medicare and Medicaid, there will be a bill involved that I can’t possibly pay, and I don’t care to take paramedics away from others who may need them more badly.

    After about 20 more minutes, I began to be able to think clearly.  My first instinct was to take a shot to counter all the food I just ate.  That would probably have been the best choice, but I was still scared to death.  I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

    That, of course, meant that a couple hours later my alarm went off to warn me my glucose was too high.  I took a small shot.  I went back to sleep.  Two hours later when I woke up, it was over 400, which is high as the Libre can count.  I took a bigger shot.  I peed on a keto stick to see if I had ketones.  Since there were no ketones, I was less concerned.  I woke up a few hours later, and I was at 128.  That’s as close to perfect as one is going to get.

    ***

    So… to return to how I handle all this, Wisdom also comes into it.  As I said before I was attacked by my diabetes, it’s more than being in possession of a set of facts.  Last night, I had a set of facts.  I knew how to interpret them, and I knew what I was supposed to do to change the things I can.  Perhaps I lacked the courage to do what my wisdom told me to do.  That’s another sort of balance that is difficult to achieve. 

    Life is, I suspect, in one form or another, a balancing act for all of us.  Was it Socrates who called it The Golden Mean?  I could look it up, I suppose, but I don’t care enough to bother.  The idea is valuable.  We need to decide what is most important at any given moment and pay attention to that detail without losing sight of all the other moments that make up a life.  Life is, as John Lennon told us, what happens while we’re busy making other plans.  I was planning to write all night.  Life happened.  Since I managed to recover, I can continue to write this morning.

    This is what it is to live daily with the distinct possibility you won’t wake up tomorrow.  It’s a matter of accepting that death isn’t the worst thing that can happen, and that we need to make use of the time in front of us because it can be gone suddenly and permanently.

    Depression is a big part of the challenge.  People with diabetes are 2 to 3 times more likely to have depression than people without diabetes.  Only 25% to 50% of people with diabetes who have depression get diagnosed and treated.  But treatment—therapy, medicine, or both—is usually very effective.  And without treatment, depression often gets worse, not better.

    That will be in next week’s episode.

    For tonight, let’s enjoy the minutes we still have.  Let’s embrace the life in front of us because we have no idea how much more of it we have left.  Let’s Shine while we can.

    Posted on by Fred · 2 Comments

    The Tightrope of Diabetes

    Am I a brittle diabetic?  I’m not a doctor, so I don’t have an informed medical opinion.  I’ve never heard my endocrinologist say I was.  According to The Cleveland Clinic only about 3 out of 1,000 people with insulin dependent diabetes are brittle.  It’s most common in women in their 20s and 30s.

    https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/21499-brittle-diabetes#:~:text=What%20is%20brittle%20diabetes%3F,hyperglycemia%20(high%20blood%20sugar).

    It seems unlikely that I am, then.  On the other hand, the same source tells me that the difference between “normal” diabetes and unstable diabetes is that those with unstable diabetes exhibit these symptoms:

    • Affect their ability to live life normally.  (I’m on Disability because I can’t stand up for any significant length of time)
    • Cause anxiety and depression.  (Hi, I’m Fred.  Have we met?)
    • Lead to hospitalization or even death.  (I’ve been hospitalized way too many times.)

    In the last few weeks my blood sugar has been jumping around like a ping pong ball chasing a rabbit on crack.  I have a Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) that is very helpful, and it’s shown that I have been dangerously close to falling into a coma at least half a dozen times this month.  I’ve been moving toward Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA) three or four times. 

    Between my dog, Speedy Shine, and my CGM, I have been alerted in time to save myself.  My dog wakes me up frequently just a few minutes before the CGM starts alarming, both for highs and lows.  To my knowledge, he was never trained for this, but he does it often.  He also does it when I stop breathing.  I hope to have my C-PAP soon, so he won’t need to provide that service anymore.  I have my second sleep study coming up this weekend.  I’m hoping they’ll give me the machine then.  I’d like to get on with it.

    I can’t feel my feet anymore, and I nearly lost a toe last October.  This is a symptom of diabetes called neuropathy.  It causes us to lose feelings in our extremities. 

    The exact cause of each type of neuropathy is unknown.  Researchers think that over time, uncontrolled high blood sugar damages nerves and interferes with their ability to send signals, leading to diabetic neuropathy.  High blood sugar also weakens the walls of the small blood vessels (capillaries) that supply the nerves with oxygen and nutrients. 

    https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/diabetic-neuropathy/symptoms-causes/syc-20371580#:~:text=Researchers%20think%20that%20over%20time,nerves%20with%20oxygen%20and%20nutrients.

    A toenail broke off, got stuck in my sock, and cut one of my toes.  I didn’t notice it, and if Speedy Shine hadn’t been trying to eat my foot that morning, I would have become septic.  I was fortunate to have a brilliant surgeon who managed to remove a little piece of bone instead of amputating the entire appendage.  You can hear all about this in the episode “Horror Toes.”  (It’s Episode 177 if you’re scrolling through Spotify or Apple Podcasts searching for it.)

    Speaking of feet, they’re essential for tightrope walking.  It’s Rule #3 in ChatGPT’s rules for Tightrope Walkers:

    Footwear: Tightrope walkers often wear soft, flexible shoes with thin soles to help them feel the wire beneath their feet and make it easier to maintain balance.

    The fact that I can’t feel my feet does much to add to my identity as The Smelly Old Man.  I can’t possibly shower safely.  It’s not a question of if, but when, I will fall.  I’m hoping to get help with this in the next couple of months.  Evidently, I can get a special chair that will prevent me from needing to stand, but it’s getting out with wet feet that worries me.  If Medicare won’t pay for it, it’s a moot point.  There’s no way I can afford that.

    The feeling in my fingertips is waning fast.  I have a much more difficult time typing now, and that’s a more serious concern for me than losing a toe.  Writing would be infinitely more difficult for me if I couldn’t type anymore.  If I can’t write anymore, my life will lose most of its meaning.

    I’m fortunate to live in nearly complete poverty because it means that Arizona and Medicare pay for most of my medical bills.  Humalog can cost well over $200 a month without insurance.  (I just learned that at least one company has now capped the cost at $35 a month… thank you Eli Lilly!)  I also need Lantus, and that would cost another $200.  I make less than $1500 a month on Disability.  That would leave me less than $1100 a month for rent, food, and living.  The cheapest studio apartment in my city is $1500 a month.  Libre is kind enough to provide their sensors for as little as $40 a month if one is insured privately.  Nevertheless, that’s $40 a month I would never have.  One can either survive by living in poverty (and in my case, being the beneficiary of plenty of charity and some wonderful People On The Porch) or one can die of diabetes for lack of the necessary medical assistance. 

    ChatGPT’s first rule for tightrope walkers is:

    Safety first: Safety is the most important consideration when it comes to tightrope walking.  It is essential to use proper equipment, including a secure harness, and to have trained professionals supervise the activity.

    Since my surgery, the insurance company has taken a much greater interest in my health.  I have the proper equipment now, and I have professionals helping to supervise.  I fought my diabetes successfully for more than 20 years.  In the last 6 years, however, I’ve been in the hospital for DKA 16 times.  I’m told most diabetics don’t survive it more than 4 or 5 times.  I’m unreasonably lucky.  I wish I would have had the support I have now much earlier.  I would certainly be healthier than I am today. 

    I’m also lacking the second most important thing for those on tightropes:

    Balance: Tightrope walking requires excellent balance and coordination.  The performer must keep their center of gravity directly over the wire and use their arms to maintain balance.

    My numbers are rarely in range and properly balanced.  The CGM helps with this, and I’m glad I have it.  Why shouldn’t everyone with diabetes have one?

    DKA is caused by blood sugar rising high enough that the diabetic begins to spill ketones.  My doctor described it to me as my blood turning to acid and trying to kill me from the inside out.  You can bring it down with insulin, but only if you catch it early enough.  Drinking lots of water also helps because, if I understand it correctly, the water dilutes the ketones, and we get rid of them when we urinate.  I have no medical degree.  I could absolutely be wrong about this.  Please check with your own doctor if you’re diabetic.  I’m relating my own experiences with the problem.  Your mileage may vary. 

    CGMs are not all equal.  My Dexcom lost connection more frequently than it maintained it.  My Libre keeps the connection well, but I’m told it tends to be about ten minutes behind the actual number it gives.  This is a place I believe technology will continue to improve, and I’m hopeful that all diabetics will have these devices to help us control our blood sugar. 

    My Dexcom gave me significantly lower numbers than my Libre.  This can potentially be deadly.  At one point my Dexcom told me I was at 60.  My Libre said 106.  

    For those who don’t know American blood sugar numbers, doctors like us to be between 80 and 120 most of the time.  At 60, one is vulnerable to going into a coma.  Above 300 one is vulnerable to DKA.  When you’re at 60, you need to eat, and you need to do it quickly.  Glucose tablets provide quick carbs, but they don’t last.  A real meal is essential. 

    Had I eaten lots of carbs when I was at 106, I would have bumped up my blood sugar to a place where I might be moving toward DKA.  If nothing else, I would have raised my A1C unnecessarily. 

    The A1C test—also known as the hemoglobin A1C or HbA1c test—is a simple blood test that measures your average blood sugar levels over the past 3 months.  It’s one of the commonly used tests to diagnose prediabetes and diabetes, and is also the main test to help you and your health care team manage your diabetes. Higher A1C levels are linked to diabetes complications, so reaching and maintaining your individual A1C goal is really important if you have diabetes.

    https://www.cdc.gov/diabetes/managing/managing-blood-sugar/a1c.html#:~:text=The%20A1C%20test%E2%80%94also%20known,care%20team%20manage%20your%20diabetes


    All of the above is the medical and scientific side of Diabetes.  There is another side, and it’s at least as important.  It’s what Diabetes does to its victims emotionally and psychologically.  To be diabetic means to live life knowing that if we make the wrong decision, if we forget to eat, if we forget to take our insulin, or for reasons over which we have no control at all, we can suddenly slip into a coma from which we will never wake, or we will lose consciousness after throwing up for a while when we go into DKA. 

    Honestly, it’s frightening.  I know that any of us can be dead at any moment.  A meteor could strike Earth in the next five minutes, and that would be the ball game for millions, or perhaps billions of us.  We could get hit by a bus or murdered in our sleep.  Yes, Death awaits all of us.  It just seems a bit more anxious to cuddle up with diabetics.

    There was a time, not that long ago, when it didn’t bother me much.  I was ready to die if it was my time.  There were times when I was in a hurry to reach that final curtain.  As life has improved, however, I feel more like I want to continue to live.  I’m becoming a better writer.  I’m almost safe every month because so many people help me so much and so often.  I have a dog who loves me.  No one is calling me a F***ing liar half a dozen times a day anymore, and I’m healing from my own traumas.

    I still get depressed, but it’s not happening as often.  I’m taking Duloxetine, and that may be what is helping me.  It may also be that conditions are improving.  Measuring depression is much harder than measuring blood sugar.  I can’t prick my finger to find out my depression level.

    I spent most of my day getting my living will, my last will and testament, my medical and financial powers of attorney, and my instructions for the disposal of my remains handled.  I also have plans for someone taking care of Speedy Shine in the event of my demise.

    My next step is going to be getting a safety net in place in case I fall off my diabetes tightrope.  I need to hear back from Assisted Living, and all the steps in that could take up to 45 days.

    Since my numbers have been frightening in the last week or so, I thought it was more important to sort out what happens if I die.  I still have to meet with my best friend, Stephanie, and an additional witness to sign everything, but I’m hoping that will take place in the next couple of weeks.

    I also need to get a network of people set up in the event I wind up in the hospital, but I haven’t died. I would need people to take care of Speedy Shine until I can get back.  I’m hoping to put together some folks who can donate some money to pay someone to be here while I can’t.  That will be happening in the next few days.  If Sherlock, The Mystery Patron, is still in town, I’m hoping I can get her to come by and take care of him, but he tried to bite her once, so I’m not so sure I can do that.  (Yes, we’re going to be working on that in the coming days, too.  That’s an entirely separate podcast.  Speedy Shine will tell you about it himself.)

    When Death keeps knocking on the door, it seems foolish not to prepare for its entrance.  I’m working on a Final Front Porch Podcast that will be published after my death.  Mortality isn’t fun to consider, but that doesn’t change its existence.  We can’t escape by ignoring it.  We can only be caught unprepared. 

    I have learned to accept that I am going to die sooner than I might like.  Part of this is because I’m choosing to live life the way I want to instead of in the ways that might prolong my days on Earth.  If I’m going to live, I’m going to enjoy it. 

    Please understand that diabetics may seem fine from the outside, but I feel confident that I’m not the only one who lives with the unspoken terror contained in frightening numbers we see far too frequently. 

    The fear isn’t falling off the tightrope; that’s inevitable.  The fear is in how far we’ll fall.  I’m doing my best to keep my wire as low as possible.  Let’s raise the healthcare ceiling to include all of us and lower the wire for everyone.  Let’s help the diabetics to Shine.

    Posted on by Fred

    The Fall of Public Education

    Today, February 16, 2023 (you’ll hear this a few weeks after I wrote it… I’m always ahead of schedule) is the 36th anniversary of the first time I stepped into my own classroom.  I didn’t have a computer.  Neither did anyone else I knew.  I wrote my lesson plans by hand, and I followed strict guidelines for creating them.  Goal, objective, procedure, and assessment were the elements I was expected to have.  That’s what they taught me in my education classes.  That was what my principal expected of me.  But she expected something more.

    I was trying to teach using the basal reader, “Ride the Sunrise.”  It was fine, if entirely uninspiring.  We would read the story together in class, and then the students would answer the questions and do the vocabulary exercises.  It was hardly revolutionary teaching.  It was, in fact, frighteningly dull.

    My third week in, it was a Thursday after school, my principal called me into her office, and she asked me what the hell I was doing.  I explained I was doing what I thought was expected of me.  This was the district adopted textbook, and I was following it religiously.

    She rolled her eyes.  “I have a fleet of teachers who can do that.  That wasn’t why I hired you.  You told me you loved literature.  You sat in that interview, and you talked about how much you loved Hemingway, Doyle, and Shakespeare.”

    “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

    “So why don’t I see those in your classroom?  I’m sorry, Fred, but I’m really disappointed in you.  I expected so much more.”

    “You’re saying… let me understand you… you’re saying I should teach those things?”

    “You got it.  You talk a good game, but it doesn’t mean a thing if you can’t back it up.”  I heard Ella Fitzgerald in my head: “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.”

    “The district has all those on reading lists for later grades.  I’m teaching a 5/4 combination.”  (That always made me think of Dave Brubeck.)

    “So, let’s get your kids ahead of the game.  Can you do that or not?”

    “Oh… I think I can do that.  Come see on Monday.”

    I spent the weekend poring over “A Scandal In Bohemia.”  I got more than a little stoned Saturday afternoon and watched the Jeremy Brett video with my notebook in my lap and a pen in my left hand, scribbling furiously.  It’s not a mystery as much as it is a love story about a man who is incapable of love.  How could I get my students to feel that?  What could I ask?  How could I get them to understand something that was at least 2 years over their reading level?  I needed help.  I called the greatest teacher I had ever known: my father.

    “Do you understand Sherlock Holmes?” he asked.

    “Obviously.”

    “Excellent.  Then explain it to them.  You take it a piece at a time, just like I did when we read Curious George on the steps of the library.  Read.  Stop.  Question.  Rinse.  Repeat.  You get them through it a piece at a time, and you ask them about the things you think are interesting.  Look at that opening line.  ‘To Sherlock Holmes, she was always the woman.’  Read it to them.  Stop.  What on Earth does Watson mean by that?  They’re old enough to have some ideas.  Encourage those ideas.  It’s playing, Fred.  That’s all.  You’re just playing.”

    And that, gentle readers and listeners, is the key to learning.  We learn by playing.

    Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning.  But for children play is serious learning.  Play is really the work of childhood.

    –Fred Rogers

    But the sharp break that unfortunately prevails between the kindergarten and the grades is evidence that the theoretical distinction has practical implications.  Under the title of play, the former is rendered unduly symbolic, fanciful, sentimental, and arbitrary; while under the antithetical caption of work the latter contains many tasks externally assigned.  The former has no end and the latter an end so remote that only the educator, not the child, is aware that it is an end.

    — John Dewey How We Think:  Chapter 12: Activity and the Training of Thought

    We gain experience through Play.  Experience is The Great Teacher.  It’s the interpretation of that experience that leads to real education.  Education is not to be mistaken for memorization.  It occurs only when we have experiences that open us up for other, greater experiences.  It comes from finding the meanings of our experiences. 

    I got to school in practically the middle of the night Monday morning.  I had to copy the story out of one of my paperbacks.  I had to collate and staple together 35 copies.  That was incredibly time consuming in 1987.  When Mrs. Dobbs came to see my show on Monday morning, she was duly impressed, and she told me I was now on the right road.  I followed it proudly. 

    Within a few weeks, my students were easily spotted in the lunch room because they were the ones carrying around the Sherlock Holmes books they had made their parents buy them.  Just before Christmas Break we read “The Final Problem,” in which Holmes dies… or at least we think he did.  If this is a spoiler for you, I can’t bring myself to apologize.  It’s 130 years old.  You’ve had a minute to read it.

    There was robust discussion, sometimes becoming far too animated for a normal classroom, about whether Holmes was really dead.  Holmes and his archenemy, Professor Moriarty, had finally had the contest they were fated to have.  Two sets of footprints go down to the edge of Reichenbach Falls.  None return. 

    An examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other’s arms.  Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful caldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation.

    — Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “The Final Problem”

    Students were throwing theories back and forth like hand grenades, and they were exploded promptly by their classmates who told them why that idea was wrong, but their own ideas must certainly be right.  And I sent them home to wonder for the next few weeks. 

    And you know what they did all by themselves during the break?  Yes, that’s right.  They ran to the bookstore and the public library to find “The Empty House,” which I told them was Watson’s own adventure.  And without their teacher to hold their little hands… they read it… all by themselves.  Okay… they didn’t all understand it as well as I wanted them to, but by the time we read it in class, and we watched the Jeremy Brett video, everyone had become a lifelong Sherlock Holmes fan.

    There are worse things a teacher can do. 

    We performed Hamlet a couple of years later.  I was constantly upping my game.   By this time, we were doing Sherlock Holmes the first half of the year.  Shakespeare occupied the second half.  This particular year I had a child show up in my class who had spent her life in the back woods of Alabama.  She had never seen a book.  She didn’t know what the alphabet was.  But I was teaching 6th grade that year, and Jenny was 12 years old.  They put her in my class.

    Her special ed teacher, Jody Novack, and I worked our asses off with Jenny.  She was a very sweet girl who really wanted to learn.  They made me give her the standardized test that year.  I think it was called the CBEST, but don’t quote me on that.  It was more than 30 years ago, and I can’t always remember what I had for lunch yesterday anymore so I could be wrong. 

    I asked if she could be exempted from taking the test since there was no way she could pass it.  You might as well have given me a test in Japanese.  She was just up to the level of Dr. Seuss by the time the test was to be administered.  No, the district told me, she had to take the test.  Could I at least read it to her so there might be some means of this revealing what Jenny knew?  No.  That’s not allowed.  Fine. 

    When I gave her the test, Jenny asked what she was supposed to do.  I told her to fill in one bubble on each line.  She was happy to do that.  She made a pretty little pattern down the page. 

    When she finished, she pulled out the Hamlet script we were doing and went one word at a time as Mrs. Novack had taught her to do.  She was determined to learn to read that because she desperately wanted to play Ophelia.  “Read one word, Jenny.  Then read the next one, and put the two words together.  Then do the third word.  Keep doing that until you have the whole sentence.  Then read the sentence and know you did it.”  Mrs. Novack’s method was time consuming but effective.

    I mention this test only because when we got the results back, Jenny was in the 35th percentile.  Standardized tests measure nothing meaningful.  If you want a meaningful measurement, you should have watched Jenny raving like a lunatic after Ophelia’s brother, Laertes, and her father, Polonius, are killed by her boyfriend, Hamlet.  To this day, I can hear Jenny on that stage…

    There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.  Pray you, love, remember.  And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. . . . There’s fennel for you, and columbines.  There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’Sundays.  You must wear your rue with a difference.  There’s a daisy.  I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.  They say he made a good end.

    All right, she wasn’t Kate Winslet, but when she took her curtain call, all 40 people in the audience gave her a standing ovation.  And I never saw anyone glowing with more pride.  That’s how you measure student success.

    Six years later, she was graduating from high school, and she called our school and told my principal that she, Jody Novack, and I all had to come to her graduation because she was making a speech.  We took the morning off and went to see Jenny in her robes on the stage.

    “When I got here to California, I didn’t know how to read.  It was easy to think I was dumb, but I had a couple of teachers and a principal who refused to believe that.  Mrs. Novack worked with me every day before and after school on my lines for Hamlet because Mr. Eder let me play Ophelia.  Mr. Eder was completely convinced I could do it, and he convinced me.  Today you can ask me anything you want about Hamlet, and I can give you an intelligent answer.  Because they were right.  I wasn’t dumb.  I just needed a little help.”  And then Jenny looked over to me, and she said words I’ve never forgotten.  “To be or not to be, Mr. Eder?  I choose to be.”

    I cried like a little girl.  More than 30 years later, I get tears in my eyes every time I think of that moment.

    That’s why we teach.  That’s why I taught. 

    And then it began to crumble.  It began with No Child Left Behind, but that was certainly not the end of it.  Someone realized that a state might spend as much as 20% of its budget on public education.  There was money to be made there.  The testing industry promptly produced tests that showed that public education was failing, that our students were stupid, and that only by using the curriculum designed by the testing companies could we possibly save our students.  It was Professor Harold Hill’s Boys’ Band coming to rescue us from the evils of the Pool Hall. 

    Imagination was banned from my classroom by the time I quit in 2016.  There would be no more school plays.  There would be no more Sherlock Holmes, no more Shakespeare, and I was dreaming if I thought I could teach To Kill a Mockingbird to a 6th grader.  It was about data.  How many words per minute can they read?  Why this matters is a complete mystery to me.  I don’t know many people who love reading who are in a hurry to zip through the book.  If I take you out to a 5-Star restaurant, are you really going to see how quickly you can consume the steak, or are you going to savor every morsel?  If you’re reading this, I hope you’re taking the time to enjoy it.  If you’re listening to it, I promise I’m not rushing.  I would like you to be able to absorb each word.  Since some people have difficulty with that because of my use of music, I always include the transcript so you can follow along at a good pace.

    Public education has been bought and destroyed by corporations.  I have great respect for those who continue to try, but if I can’t help Jenny anymore, if I can’t watch my students’ eyes light up as they begin to understand what people have told them they couldn’t even read, I don’t want any part of it.  I’ll leave you with words no corporation could ever understand.

    I met a traveller from an antique land,

    Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

    Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

    Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

    The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

    And on the pedestal, these words appear:

    My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

    Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

    Nothing beside remains.  Round the decay

    Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

    The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

    — Percy Bysshe Shelley

    Posted on by Fred · 2 Comments

    Artificial Intelligence and Art

    Artificial Intelligence as Art now exists.  This is undeniable.  You can have AI paint you a picture, write you a story, compose a song for you, and clone a voice so you can use any recorded vocal sound in your work.  It isn’t going to go away.  Technology, once invented, continues forever.  We can oppose it all we want.  We can claim it’s immoral or unethical to use it.  We can file lawsuits, and I’m sure people will.  These abilities will continue to exist, nevertheless.

    The question arises, then, as to whether we should use them. 

    I excitedly announced on my Facebook page that I had found software called Eleven Labs that allowed me to clone Valerie Bertinelli’s voice so that I could use it in a 3-part science fiction story I had written called “Universe Selectors, Incorporated.”  In that story, my alter ego, Horace Singleman, is offered the opportunity to choose the universe in which he would like to live.  He considers a universe without poverty, hunger, homelessness, or war.  The Alien who offers him this chance says that’s not specific enough.  There are lots of such universes.  Horace needs to select one in which something less common occurs.  Horace adds that in this universe, Valerie Bertinelli would text him and invite him to dinner.  The Alien transports Horace to such a universe, and Horace gets both a text and a video message from her.  She has 3 or 4 lines in the show.

    I had my friend, Jurine Elkins, play the part of Valerie Bertinelli in the original story.  Jurine did a fantastic job, and I’m eternally grateful to her for her work.  But now I have the chance to have Valerie read the lines herself.  What could be cooler than that?

    This set off a storm of commentary on my page telling me what I wanted to do was immoral. 

    Here are a few samples:

    Name Redacted: Fred Eder Hijacking a professional actor’s voice (and/or image 😱) for use in publication is reprehensible and will expose the author to civil liability.  Because you are not paying them for this…  It does not make your work better.  It allows you to be the director instead of the narrator.

    I don’t think it is right to borrow the voice of someone famous to lend credence to your words – unless you have permission to.  It does not in any way improve your “ART.” It just possibly becomes more popular when you borrow the voice of someone famous to read your blog out loud.  And it is a blog – not a show.  Like an audio book.  They get paid for that.  You can say if it’s wrong, blame the developer.  I say it’s wrong to use that software for your personal gain and to someone else’s loss.  It is deceptive and I don’t see how it improves anything.  Unless you start going for comedy instead of edification.

    First, I won’t be told what my show is.  I get to decide that for myself.  To say it’s just a blog is factually incorrect.  I do both a blog and a podcast, and while the words are the same, the experiences are significantly different from one another.  If you would like to know what my show is, I did a Primer about that topic last week.

    I’m not using anyone else’s voice to “read my blog out loud.”  I’ll do that for myself, thank you.  I am, however, getting actors to play parts I can’t.  I won’t be using Morgan Freeman to read work like this piece.  I am perfectly capable of doing that myself.  I like the way I read it.  When I’m quoting someone else’s words, it seems appropriate to me to use a voice not my own. 

    When I do a theater piece, I now have the opportunity to use a complete cast of actors to play all the different roles.  As has been pointed out repeatedly, I can’t do a female voice well enough to make it work.  That’s why I used AI above.  And when I think of getting any actors I want to read the parts I’ve written, it’s a dream come true.  It’s not because it will “be more popular.”  (I’m never going to be more popular, let’s face it.) It’s because I would love to have Patrick Stewart read my lines.  It adds realism to my work when I don’t have to try to do all the different characters.  I’m a pretty decent voice actor, but I’m not nearly good enough to play all the characters I create.

    Second Name Redacted:  Actors, like artists, should be given fair recompense when their distinctive qualities are appropriated by AI.  You wouldn’t steal a pen, or pirate software.

    There would be merit and value in AI voiceover companies developing their own stylish timbres, but anything more than a brief pastiche of a real actor is theft.  Disney would sue a production using even its proprietary cartoon voices without permission.  Imagine if a noted campaigner, Mark Ruffalo, say, had his voice cloned for a Big Oil promotion.

    Even with a small affair like yours, Fred (and who knows at this stage what audiences it might reach), permission should be sought.  Who knows, the real actor might even jump in!

    This is a fair ethical concern, but only to a small extent.  I was going to respond to it, myself, but one of The People On The Porch came up with what I think is a much better argument.

    Third Name Redacted:  I find it interesting that there is so much alarm around protecting the rights of the rich and famous while the person doing this work is struggling to pay rent.

    I feel the biggest alarm should be that there are millions of people who don’t have their basic needs met and why are we okay with that, rather than arguing about the assets of millionaires and billionaires not being protected.

    We really need to sort our priorities out…

    I’m thinking of the Bible verse about Lazarus and the rich man.  Lazarus was covered in sores and hoped to eat what fell from the rich man’s table.

    Why are we complaining about the ethics of the poor “stealing” the crumbs from the tables of the rich and not the problem of wealth inequality that steals food from the mouths of the poor in the first place?…  And until we start to change the way we think about wealth and money and justice, we will be condemning the Lazaruses for trying not to die in the streets.

    One of the things I think is important to consider is this:  If I don’t use the software, the actors I would have playing my roles make zero dollars.  If I do use the software, the actors I would have playing my roles make zero dollars.  That outcome is identical in either case.  If, on the other hand, I don’t use the software, my audio dramas can’t be improved beyond my ability to use my current software and voice acting talents to make each of my characters sound unique.  If I do use the software, I can have anyone I want playing the roles I write.  The advantage is in using the software.

    The software exists.  It’s not going to disappear if I climb on top of some intangible moral or ethical principle.  Whether I use it or not, others will, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they found horrible things for which to use it.  It’s easy to imagine governments, who have access to more powerful software, using it to invent nefarious lies to hurt other governments.  Big businesses can do the same.  I’m sure other artists will find other less than kind ways to employ this type of software.  

    If they get around to making it illegal, that won’t change the fact that it exists, and it will be used.  If I’m not allowed to post the work I do with it for fear of copyright infringement, I will still use it and create the coolest audio dramas I can.  I will just not post my work publicly.  I’ll email it to a few people who I think will enjoy it.  I’ll listen to it, myself, because I will enjoy it. 

    The same questions arise for painters, composers, and writers.  I can’t paint.  I can’t even draw.  And while I wish I could pay my friends, Jenn or Michelle, to paint the pictures I need for my blog, I can’t.  AI can do what I can’t.  I still haven’t had completely satisfactory results with it, but I suspect that will improve over time.  It helps my Art, and it’s free and easy to use.

    I can’t write music, but I just learned about new software that should be able to do that for me, and I’m excited about this idea.  If I learn to use it, my show will include music you’ll never have heard before.  I love that idea.

    ChatGPT can already write college level essays.  Professors are working on ways to determine if it was written by software or a human.  I’m sure it can write excellent fiction as well.  I’m a writer.  And it doesn’t bother me in the least.  It can’t write a Fred Eder story.  It will never be able to do that.  It can undoubtedly imitate my style.  It can use my ideas.  But it will never have my thoughts.  It can’t because I don’t even have them all, myself, yet.  And if it can write a story better than I can (millions of humans can already do this), more power to it.  Let’s have more great literature in the world, regardless of its source. 

    Is AI going to replace artists?  It’s replacing humans all the time.  That’s the central idea in The Teddy Bear Coder, and I promise I wasn’t the first, or even the hundred first, to come up with that idea.  If AI can do something to help us, that’s great.  If it can eliminate the need for us to “work,” in the sense of having to do things we don’t want to do so we can make enough money to live, I’m in favor of that.  How many craftsmen have been put out of work by 3D printing?  Cashiers are becoming increasingly rare.  Tellers are seldom used.  Talking to a human being on the phone at a business of any sort is generally a marathon of button pushing.  You don’t always get there even then. 

    And, whether you or I approve or not will change nothing.  We can either embrace what it can do for us, or we can fight a battle we are doomed to lose. 

    Henry Drummond: Progress has never been a bargain.  You have to pay for it. Sometimes I think there’s a man who sits behind a counter and says, “All right, you can have a telephone, but you lose privacy and the charm of distance.  Madam, you may vote but at a price: you lose the right to retreat behind the powder puff or your petticoat.  Mister, you may conquer the air, but the birds will lose their wonder and the clouds will smell of gasoline.”

    — Inherit The Wind  Nedrick Young(screenplay) Harold Jacob Smith(screenplay) Jerome Lawrence(play)

    If we’re going to deal with the losses Progress creates, I’m going to make the best use I can of the advantages it brings.  I won’t apologize for that.  I believe I’m right.  I recognize I could be wrong.  I welcome your comments. 

    Artificial Intelligence is opening up possibilities that have never existed before.  Let’s use what’s available to us to make a better world.  Let’s Shine in the light of human progress, even when that progress is made by a machine.

    Posted on by Fred

    The Problem of Immigration

    I wrote the following on November 26, 2018.  The United States had just tear gassed refugees and immigrants crossing our border.

    I honestly can’t stomach this anymore.

    We kidnapped children from families coming to us for help.  And, while there was some outrage, there were those who said it was the families’ fault.  It wasn’t.  They came for help.  They were met with the most horrible thing you can do to any parent.

    Now we’re tear gassing people.  This was outlawed in 1993, because it’s an inhumane weapon that doesn’t discriminate between intended targets and bystanders… or children.

    I have seen people laughing about this. I had to drop a thread altogether because there were people blaming the parents who were fleeing for their lives, and they honestly thought my outrage was funny.  It isn’t.

    The argument is that they can come, but they must do it legally.  The legal argument is an effort to give cover to the fact that what we are doing is patently immoral.  It was illegal to help a slave escape in 1850.  But it was the right thing to do.  Slavery was legal, but it was wrong.  It was illegal to hide Anne Frank in your attic in 1939.  But it was the right thing to do.  Nazism was legal, but it was wrong.  It is, in some states, illegal to feed homeless people.  But it’s the right thing to do.  Preventing people from helping others is legal, but it’s wrong.

    There are many laws that are good laws because they protect us.  It’s illegal to kill me, or to steal my car, or to rape someone.  I’m in favor of those laws.  They protect us.

    I don’t need to be protected from a family crossing a line.  They pose no threat to me.  If they come in and hurt someone, by all means, stop them. But crossing that line hurts no one.  And to greet people who come for help with tear gas instead of with open arms is the height of immorality.

    I don’t want to hear that we don’t have the resources to help them. Of course we do. To believe otherwise is to buy into the oligarchy’s plan to make us fight with each other over the scraps of food they drop on the floor, while they pile up cash in offshore accounts and laugh at us.  The refugees, the poor, those who need help are not a threat to you.  They are not the ones keeping you from a good life.  That would be the ones with the power.  And so long as we keep supporting them, they will keep suffocating us.

    What we are doing at our border is wrong.  To believe otherwise is to delude yourself.

    What will I do?  I’m doing it.  I’m speaking out as loudly as I can.  “But, if you’re so worried about them, why don’t you let them come and live with you?” If your house is on fire, I can’t put it out.  I pay taxes, though, so someone can.  If you need to get to work, I can’t build you a road.  I pay taxes, though, so someone can.  If you are being attacked, I can’t help you.  But I pay taxes so someone can.

    If people need help, and I am in a position to give it to them, I will. I just offered someone our extra room if she needs it because it’s all I can do.  I don’t have a single dollar to my name today.  But what I have is a voice. What I have is a talent for writing.  Those are what I have to offer.  The Little Drummer Boy could play.  I can write.  We give what we have to help those who need it. We don’t attack those in trouble.

    I hope you understand.

    If you need a reminder of what happened, there are two links in the transcript that will take you through the details.  One if from the BBC.  The other is from NPR.  These are traditionally two of the most objective media outlets.

    https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-46355258

    https://www.npr.org/2018/11/25/670687806/u-s-agents-spray-tear-gas-at-migrants-briefly-close-tijuana-border-entry

    Last week I talked a little about Legalism, or the idea that adherence to a strict set of laws or religious beliefs is the way to define moral behavior.  I find it to be an excuse for doing what we know is wrong.  The argument that they can come, but they must do so legally, is a textbook example of the moral cowardice of Legalism. 

    We need to stop seeing laws and start seeing people.  These are human beings coming for help.  They are often hungry and homeless.  They have been threatened by drug cartels.  They have been victims of violence.  And our response is that they have to wait until they have filled out the proper paperwork and had it stamped by the appropriate authorities?  That’s simply wrong.  They could be your parents.  They could be your children.  They share most of their attributes.  And we should care about them as we care about our own families… because they are part of our family. 

    I spent last night reading comments from a supposed economist who was extolling the genius of Thomas Sowell and Adam Smith to explain why our Capitalist economy is the best of all possible worlds.  It’s just an unfortunate side effect that this economy is filled with people trying their best to make ends meet.  They work 2 or 3 jobs just to pay rent, but, by all means, let the markets regulate themselves.  There are hundreds of thousands of homeless people sleeping on the streets and shivering in the cold, but that’s just sort of too bad, because if we tried anything else, it would certainly be worse. 

    I won’t accept such arguments.  I will be the first to admit that I am nothing resembling an economist.  I know next to nothing about how economies work.  I don’t know the science.  All I can see are the results.  And the results of our economic system are appalling.

    We need to stop seeing numbers and start seeing people.  When children don’t have a warm bed, the economy isn’t working.  When children are put into cages, the immigration system isn’t working. 

    In simplest terms, people matter more than money.  People matter more than arbitrary laws that keep them from the help they need.

    Part of the problem, I think, is that we have global markets, but we lack any global government to regulate them.  This allows corporations to wield enormous power without anything to stop them.  If one country taxes them, they simply move their money to another.  If one country forces them to pay a living wage, they move their jobs to another.  And the exploitation goes on.

    We have borders to protect us from others coming to our country and taking advantage of us.  But… what if we had no borders, anywhere, at all?  What if we recognized that there is no Them; we are all Us?  What would this mean?

    It would mean an effective one-world government that benefits everyone.  If we had a global democracy, we could distribute global resources to where they are most needed without dealing with borders that keep help from getting where it is most needed.

    Democracy comes from the Greek terms “Demos,” meaning “people,” and “Kratia,” or power.  It is the idea that people have the power to rule themselves.  We’ve been trying to get Democracy right for more than 2,500 years, and we still haven’t managed it.  I believe this is because governments are subject to the will of other governments, and they must compete with one another for supremacy.  Authoritarian dictatorships frequently create stronger militaries, and Democracy can’t fight them effectively.

    Instead of fighting each other for control of what Carl Sagan aptly described as a “fraction of a dot,” we should work toward having a global democracy that works for all of us instead of giving all the advantages to the wealthy. 

    This is not what The United Nations does now.  That’s a collection of governments, and participation is entirely voluntary.  The UN has no power to enforce its policies.  It has little voice in governments who exploit or oppress their own citizens.  Its function is mostly symbolic.

    I don’t have details for you about how to accomplish this.  I’m sorry.  I’m not nearly intelligent enough to design such a government.  But I can give you some ideas that would help to shape it. 

    Its purpose must be to help all people.  Its representatives should be elected by popular vote.  Everyone needs to be allowed to vote without interference or coercion.   It should ensure that all people get the healthcare they need.  It should ensure that education is freely available.  It should see to it that everyone has a warm bed and decent food to eat.  A government of any kind that does less is a failure to the extent that it falls short of these goals. 

    I leave it to better minds than mine to work out the details.  And better minds than mine will become increasingly common as education becomes more readily available. 

    So, how do we solve The Problem of Immigration?  We remove all the borders that separate one country from another, and we become one planet composed of one people.  We recognize that we are all travelers on this rock tumbling through space.  We work together to better ourselves and the rest of humanity instead of trying to create stacks of bits of green linen and cotton that, themselves, are becoming less and less common.  We use currency less frequently all the time, and now we are transferring most of our money electronically.  There are more and more places that decline to accept cash.  I had thought this was illegal, but the federal reserve tells us it’s not.

    There is no federal statute mandating that a private business, a person, or an organization must accept currency or coins as payment for goods or services. Private businesses are free to develop their own policies on whether to accept cash unless there is a state law that says otherwise.

    Section 31 U.S.C. 5103, entitled “Legal tender,” states: “United States coins and currency [including Federal Reserve notes and circulating notes of Federal Reserve Banks and national banks] are legal tender for all debts, public charges, taxes, and dues.” This statute means that all U.S. money as identified above is a valid and legal offer of payment for debts when tendered to a creditor.

    https://www.federalreserve.gov/faqs/currency_12772.htm

    This means it’s more difficult for people who don’t have bank accounts to get any help.  If I give a homeless person a ten-dollar-bill, they can’t necessarily take it to a coffee shop to get something to eat anymore.  Currency is losing its value.  The world is becoming much more for those who have, and much less for those who have not.

    We need to stop making decisions about people based on their place of birth, their gender, their race, the color of their skin, or their sexuality, and instead we see that there is much more that unites us than divides us.  We must recognize that everyone is someone’s son or daughter, just as you and I are, and that hurting them means making miserable not only them but the people who love them.  We see every child as we would see our own children, and we grant them the love they have earned simply by showing up on Earth. 

    Hatred has reigned long enough on Earth.  Why not try Love for a while?  Let’s see how that works out.

    Posted on by Fred

    Violence Is The Tool of The Intellectually Ineffective

    The following is my part of a discussion I had on Facebook the other day. 

    A friend of mine had posted something Liberal on his page.  A conservative friend of his, referred to here as Name Deleted, talked about how he would “K” Democrats.  He said he meant “Kiss.”  No one believed him.

    • Fred: Violence of any kind is never the answer.
    • Name Deleted: Sure, Fred.  You grow up in church.  You be good.
    • Fred:  I’m an atheist, and ad hominem attacks are not arguments. Violence continues to be no answer.
    • Name Deleted:  Pacifist.  Nope not here.  Grew up military and country.  Saw a lot of stuff in my life.  Called survival. 
    • Fred: Also irrelevant to attack me instead of my argument. You also gave me your personal history, which is also not an argument.  Violence means someone is hurt. It usually means someone is killed. Whatever Good you believe you accomplished with your violence is denied to those who die.  Violence is the answer used by those who cannot be moved by words and logical arguments. It is the answer of the intellectually ineffective.
    • Name Deleted: Fred Eder You Win Freddy. Attack you. Wow. Fragile. You win. Bye.
    • Fred: Thanks for the discussion.

    No, of course I didn’t change his mind.  I’ve been on Facebook for nearly 14 years now, and in that time I’m not aware of anyone ever changing their minds based on any sort of debate there.  I recognize the futility of the effort.  Why, then, should I continue to try?

    It’s because I believe in the power of words.  Words can inspire.  They can change world views.  They can inform.  They can lift us out of our ordinary experiences and show us a universe we had never imagined before.  They both begin and end wars.  They set humanity apart from most of the rest of life on this planet.  There are hypotheses that other animals communicate, but we are unique, as far as I know, in written language, an alphabet, and our ability to be moved by thoughts from thousands of years ago.  The words I wrote might cause someone, somewhere, some time, to reconsider their own thoughts, even though I have no idea who that person is.  The best any writer can hope to do is to move a stranger.  I recognize that Good people sometimes commit acts of violence.  They are expected of our military, and they are often necessary for members of the law enforcement community.  But they always represent a failure of our intellect.  Soldiers, sailors, and marines don’t kill others for fun.  They do so on the orders of leaders who were unable to use language to convince other leaders to do what they believed needed to be done. 

    Shakespeare took this up in Henry V:

    BATES

    … for we know
    enough, if we know we are the king’s subjects: if
    his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes
    the crime of it out of us.

    WILLIAMS

    But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath
    a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and
    arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join
    together at the latter day and cry all ‘We died at
    such a place;’ some swearing, some crying for a
    surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind
    them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their
    children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die
    well that die in a battle; for how can they
    charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their
    argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it
    will be a black matter for the king that led them to
    it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of
    subjection.

    The most common argument about the need for violence comes in explaining why Neville Chamberlain was wrong not to go to war with Germany earlier than he did.  There can be no debate that Hitler needed to be stopped, and history suggests violence was necessary to accomplish that.  This is a powerful argument, but, for me, it misses the point.

    That Hitler was mentally ill can hardly be debated.  He was, in simplest terms, intellectually ineffective.  He couldn’t be persuaded by words he didn’t like.  He loved the fame, the power, and the glory that were heaped upon him by the citizens of Germany at the beginning.  He was empowered by those who believed in the hatred he preached.

    Hatred is an extreme form of Anger.  Anger is caused by fear.  (See Episode 123: “The Problem of Anger” for more on this.)  People feared Germany’s collapsing economy would cause them to plummet into poverty and homelessness.  I think many of us are familiar with this fear today in America.  Hitler gave them somewhere to focus that anger.  It grew to the hatred necessary to kill more than 6 million people simply for being different. 

    What we see is a massive failure of intellect.  We see the power fear has to overrule our intellects. 

    There are those who claim this is built into our psyche by our earliest evolutionary stages.  Fight or Flight kept us alive for quite a long time.  Fight became synonymous with courage, flight with cowardice.  We’re told to admire courage over cowardice.  Running away from an attack is not heroic.  There are few movies made about those who choose flight over fight.  We simply don’t admire such people. 

    On the other hand…

    “I wish Bob Ewell wouldn’t chew tobacco,” was all Atticus said about it.

    According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leaving the post office when Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat on him, and threatened to kill him. Miss Stephanie (who, by the time she had told it twice was there and had seen it all—passing by from the Jitney Jungle, she was)—Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn’t bat an eye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood there and let Mr. Ewell call him names wild horses could not bring her to repeat. Mr. Ewell was a veteran of an obscure war; that plus Atticus’s peaceful reaction probably prompted him to inquire, “Too proud to fight, you nigger­lovin‘ bastard?” Miss Stephanie said Atticus said, “No, too old,” put his hands in his pockets and strolled on. Miss Stephanie said you had to hand it to Atticus Finch, he could be right dry sometimes.

    Jem and I didn’t think it entertaining. “After all, though,” I said, “he was the deadest shot in the county one time. He could—”

    “You know he wouldn’t carry a gun, Scout. He ain’t even got one—” said Jem. “You know he didn’t even have one down at the jail that night. He told me havin‘ a gun around’s an invitation to somebody to shoot you.”

    “This is different,” I said. “We can ask him to borrow one.”

    We did, and he said, “Nonsense.”

    — Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Chapter 23

    Atticus is a hero.  Anyone can hit someone.  That’s easy.  One could certainly argue, from at least a legal standpoint, that Atticus would have been justified in hitting Bob Ewell.  I suspect a first-year law student could get him acquitted with self-defense.  I could be wrong.  I know many people who would have knocked Ewell on his ass for that.  I know many more who would applaud Atticus for kicking Ewell’s ass.  And, again, hitting someone is easy. 

    You know what’s tough? It’s tough to tolerate such an insult without responding.  I maintain Atticus is tougher than Rambo.  I suspect many of you will disagree.  You’re welcome to do so.   

    Bravery doesn’t exist without fear.  How we deal with our fears is what defines us.  When we use our language instead of physical force, we save each other pain that solves little.  Though it’s doubtful that Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,” the sentiment is correct.  I can hurt you, and you can hurt me.  Which of us can hurt the other most is irrelevant.  It would be better for both of us if neither of us was hurt.  I decline to derive pleasure from your pain.  My life is no better because yours is worse.   And I won’t like myself as well if I hurt you.

    One of the first things we teach our children is to use their words.  We don’t express displeasure by throwing a tantrum anymore because we’ve grown beyond that.  When I was 3, it would have surprised no one that I threw a tantrum because Mommy didn’t let me have a cookie before dinner.  I wouldn’t do that today.  Neither would you.  We’re adults, and we have learned better ways to deal with our feelings.  We’ve grown.  We need, as a species, to continue to grow.  We need to learn to use our words, just as our parents taught us when we were 3. 

    My hope is my words can get you to reconsider your feelings about violence.  I hope we can stop creating a blind world and start creating a world in which we learn compassion, empathy, and love. 

    I’m 60, diabetic, disabled, and defenseless.  I have no doubt you can beat the hell out of me for suggesting ideas with which you disagree.  Which of us will be better off?    Will you have proven anything other than that you’re capable of physically hurting me?  Does that make you heroic? You would be, in my mind at least, substantially more heroic by using your intellect to change my mind instead of your power to increase the pain I experience every day.  I invite you to do that in the comments on Patreon, on my Facebook page, or on the show’s Facebook page.  You can even send me something in Facebook Messenger.  Or you can hit me.  (And you wonder why I never leave the house??)  Which do you think is better? 

    Posted on by Fred

    A Dish Best Served Cold

    In Star Trek II, Khan tells us that “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”  The line is certainly not original to him.  A Google search and Wikipedia suggest it goes back at least as far as a French diplomat named  Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord (1754–1838) .  It’s hardly surprising to learn that the desire for revenge is deeply embedded in human beings.  If someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back.  Every civilization of which I’m aware has some form of punitive laws that decide what pain we will cause someone else who has inflicted pain on us.  When you feel the desire to exact vengeance, you’re hardly unique.  It makes you believe you feel better.  Perhaps it even really does.  I question the value of that feeling.  I would prefer you feel better showing love than hurting someone you believe deserves it. 

    There are two examples of the need for revenge with which most of the world is at least somewhat familiar.  The first is Hamlet, one of the most famous fictional characters in all of literature.  The second is Indigo Montoya, who is beloved by the millions who are passionate about “The Princess Bride.”  Both are excellent examples of the fact that revenge doesn’t work out well. 

    Khan tells us it’s a dish best served cold.  What does he mean by that?  Since it’s a part of a piece of Art, your opinion is certainly as valid as mine.  To me, it means that it’s been sitting around a while.  The heat has dissipated.  With the exception of sushi (which, for me, is a punishment all its own anyway) and ice cream (which is a sweet treat that seems hardly appropriate), nearly everything humans eat is preferable when it’s fresh out of the oven or off of the stove… or, if you’re me, from the microwave.  Waiting for it to get cold is to spoil it.  It has lost most of its flavor.  This is, according to Khan and the many who came before him, the best way to get revenge.  You don’t do it immediately.  You wait until the time is right because it will maximize the pain of its intended victim, even if it takes a long time to see it happen.  And the longer you wait, the longer the hate, if left unchecked, grows in your soul. Hamlet certainly took his time to get revenge.  Although it’s never clear in the text exactly how long, certainly several months have passed between the time of the death of Hamlet’s father, and Hamlet’s killing of the homicidal King.  And, while he certainly got his revenge, he was ready to end his own life before he got there because life had gotten so horrible. 

    These are arguably the most famous words in all of literature: “To be or not to be…”  This is because Hamlet is confronting a question that so many of us have to answer at some point in our lives.  Do we want to continue living?

    I was a teacher for 29 years.  There are those who resent that I have chosen to stop being one now.  I will step in front of a classroom one last time to discuss Hamlet’s soliloquy.  I’ll recite it for you first.  I promise to explain afterward.

    To be, or not to be: that is the question:
    Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
    And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
    No more; and by a sleep to say we end
    The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
    To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
    Must give us pause: there’s the respect
    That makes calamity of so long life;
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
    The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
    The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
    The insolence of office and the spurns
    That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
    When he himself might his quietus make
    With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
    To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
    But that the dread of something after death,
    The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
    No traveller returns, puzzles the will
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have
    Than fly to others that we know not of?
    Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;
    And thus the native hue of resolution
    Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
    And enterprises of great pith and moment
    With this regard their currents turn awry,
    And lose the name of action.–Soft you now!
    The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
    Be all my sins remember’d!

    To be is simply to exist.  The first line asks whether he should or not. 

    “Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
    And by opposing end them?”

    He’s asking if it’s better, more courageous, more moral to tolerate all of the injuries (the slings and arrows) that life, in its ridiculous and unpredictable ways, sends at you, or to fight back, and make life stop hurting you.  There is a long tradition, particularly in males, to find great honor in fighting.  Perhaps I’m not much of a male because I find nothing of value in violence.  I was recently referred to as a “little pussy boy.”  I’m perfectly content with that.  I don’t believe in hurting people.  But, we’ll come back to that later.  For the moment, Hamlet has to decide what is the more honorable and courageous thing to do. 

    In this case, Hamlet seems to believe that the way to fight back against life is to end it.

    To die: to sleep;
    No more; and by a sleep to say we end
    The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wish’d.

    There’s nothing to be feared from death.  It’s simply going to sleep, something most of us do for at least a few hours out of each 24.  And if we’re dead, we don’t have to deal with all of the pain into which we are eternally embedded.  To live, for Hamlet, is to suffer, and to stop suffering is something he wants desperately. 

    He should be ready to die by now, but he thinks just a little further. 

    To die, to sleep;
    To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
    Must give us pause:

    His religion teaches of an afterlife, and the certainty that suicide is a one-way ticket to the worst possible part of it.  When we sleep, while we’re alive, we dream.  Sometimes the dreams are wonderful.  Some of the dreams I’ve had concerning Valerie Bertinelli have been fantastic.  Sometimes the dreams are horrible.  I’ve seen my father murdered by thugs in my dreams, too.  I feel certain you’ve had similar experiences.  We wake up from our dreams, though.  We return to life, which, again, for Hamlet, is mostly pain.  There is little doubt that life is, at least from time to time, painful for all of us.  And we are leashed to it by the coil of mortality.  We can’t escape it while we’re alive.  Shuffling off that pain is a tempting offer.  What is there to stop us?

    … there’s the respect
    That makes calamity of so long life;
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
    The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
    The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
    The insolence of office and the spurns
    That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
    When he himself might his quietus make
    With a bare bodkin?

    Now he names some of the torments of existence.  Time ages us with whips that toughen our skin and scorns that crack our hearts.  People hold us back, they insult us, love goes awry, justice takes far too long to come if it comes at all.  Those in power are indifferent to the needs of those over whom they hold sway.  Who wants to live in such conditions?  They aren’t much different today than they were 400 years ago.  And all he needs is a bodkin (that’s a dagger) to end it all.  Everything is quiet after we expire. 

    who would fardels bear,
    To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
    But that the dread of something after death,
    The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
    No traveller returns, puzzles the will
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have
    Than fly to others that we know not of?

    Why should we carry the weight of the bundles, both emotional and physical, that life asks us to bear until long after we’re exhausted?  The reason we put up with it is because we’re afraid of what death might be.  It’s a place about which we know nothing, except by faith.  No one ever returns from it.  (Okay… we’ve all heard about those who saw the white light and came back, and I’ve heard of that dude, Jesus, who evidently made it three whole days before he came back, but that’s not Hamlet, and it’s not most of us.)  So we put up with what we hate to avoid having to tolerate something even worse in the afterlife. 

    Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;
    And thus the native hue of resolution
    Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
    And enterprises of great pith and moment
    With this regard their currents turn awry,
    And lose the name of action.

    Conscience.  In this case, I don’t think that word means what you think it means.  It’s not a moral guide, but the idea of the fear that your conscience uses to stop you from doing what you know is wrong.  So, the vibrant colors of all of our plans fade to grey as we think about them more deeply.  Our resolve fails us, and our wishes never become our actions. 

    The end of the soliloquy appears to be irrelevant to the rest.  It’s simply a greeting to his girlfriend, Ophelia.  But what does he say, exactly?

    Soft you now!
    The fair Ophelia!  Nymph, in thy orisons
    Be all my sins remember’d!

    He’s asking her to pray for the redemption of his many sins.  He’s still worried about the afterlife.  And in the next scene he is going to hurt her as badly as he can, at least at that moment, by telling her she should go join a whorehouse.    Later, he will even kill her father, and her brother will die in his effort to get revenge against Hamlet.  He will drive Ophelia to suicide.

    Why does Hamlet seem to hate the world so much?  It may have something to do with the fact that Hamlet’s Uncle murdered Hamlet’s Father and married Hamlet’s Mother, thereby robbing Hamlet of the crown that should have been his.  (If you were a 6th grader, I would probably mention that “The Lion King” is Disney’s version of Hamlet.)  He has a strong motive to want revenge.  He’s probably having a worse week than you are.  But, what are the consequences of the all consuming hatred that makes him want to kill Claudius? 

    Bertrand Russell had some thoughts on this when he was asked what he would say to historians from a thousand years in our future.

    I should say love is wise, hatred is foolish.  In this world, which is getting more and more interconnected, we have to learn to tolerate each other, we have to learn to put up with the fact that some people say things that we don’t like. We can only live together in that way.  And if we are to live together and not die together, we should learn the kind of tolerance which is absolutely vital to the continuation of human life on this planet.

    Bertrand Russell: Love is Wise, Hatred is Foolish

    Once we let hatred infect us, it grows deeper, stronger, and more irresistible every day.  I saw a sign once at a rehab center: “Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and hoping the other guy will die.”  This is what happened to Indigo Montoya.

    Like Hamlet, Indigo was infected by hatred because a man murdered his father.  He spent a lifetime becoming the best swordsman in the land so that when he met the murderer Indigo could be sure to kill him.  “Hello.  My name is Indigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die.”  He fought Count Rugen, and he killed him.  “I want my father back, you son of a bitch.”

    Unlike Hamlet, though, Indigo’s hatred was his motivation to better himself.  Hamlet’s hatred made him suicidal.  They both got revenge.  Neither of them was better off.  Hamlet lost his life almost immediately afterward.  Indigo lost his motivation.  He had no idea what to do with his life. 

    We all have cause to feel hatred from time to time.  What can we do? 

    I’ll tell you what I did.  You can decide what you will do. 

    A good friend felt hurt by me.  I certainly didn’t intend to hurt him, but he declined to believe that, and he took revenge.  He hurt me quite nearly as badly as he could.  He may continue to find more ways to hurt me.  I don’t know.  As a member of the human race, I felt the same impulse most of us do.  I considered ways to hurt him back.  I have the means to do that.  I have the motive.  I have the opportunity.  Those are the elements they always try to find in cop shows when they’re searching for the criminal.  And then I asked what good it would do. 

    I don’t want to feel better by making someone else feel worse.  In my experience, I have never felt better because I hurt someone.  I have regretted it each time I have done it.  I’ve done it far more times than I wish I had.  It’s rarely been what I wanted, but it happened nevertheless, and I have to own that.  I’ve had 59 years, though, to understand myself.  I’ve had time to learn.  It was, I believe, Maya Angelou who said, “When we know better, we do better.”  I know myself better.  I know there’s nothing to be gained by drinking poison and hoping the other guy will die.  And hatred is among the most deadly poisons.  So, what did I do with those feelings?

    The Great Sara Niemietz did several Christmas shows this week.  I saw as many as I could.  They made me smile, and I forgot my pain for a little while.  I filled up on holiday cheer.  And I listened to one of her original songs again, and I remembered:

    Cracks and broken pieces
    Inside us
    Where the light comes in
    Brightest
    Breathe, bleed, see again

    The pain opened a new space for Joy.

    I talked to some friends who love me so I could let the feelings out.  And then, I got a dog.  He has far too much energy, but I got him something called “Calming Treats” that evidently are laced with hemp, and right now he’s sleeping quietly on the couch.  He needs me.  I’m the person who feeds him, gets him his water, his shots, and all the Love I can find.  And though we’ve been together only 22 hours, he’s already giving me more love than I’ve had in more than 2 years.  Yes, he can be a massive pain the ass.  So can my best friend, who drove me to the Shelter and PetSmart.  I can no more expect perfection from those I love than they can expect it from me.  The love I get far outweighs the times they annoy me.  Since I can’t tolerate the presence of other human beings, I will never live with anyone other than Speedy Shine again.  (Unless my landlord decides to move in… but I suspect he’ll mostly leave me alone, and I’m positive we won’t be cuddling at night, you know?)  As The Police tell us, “When the world is running down, you make the best of what’s still around.” 

    Instead of giving in to the hatred, I found a way to turn up the volume of the love in my life.  I posted several pictures of Speedy Shine and me on Facebook.  You know what happened?  Hundreds of friends celebrated our union.  One friend is sending me toys for little Speedy Shine.  Another friend sent me a hundred dollars.  My Secret Favorite Person called Speedy Shine adorable, and that, alone, made me glow. 

    I can’t control what others do, but I can, and I must, control myself and my reactions.  Instead of focusing on the hate, I redirected my focus to the extraordinary amounts of love I have received in my life.  I posted this:

    I am learning that I lead an incredibly blessed life.  People who owe me absolutely nothing in any possible way keep helping me and making my life better day after day.  This has been happening, on and off, for a few years now. Is it karma?  Is it just that I’m nice to people when I can be?  Is it that the world is filled with beautiful people who do all they can to fill the Earth with Love?

    I really don’t know.  But I know it happens.

    I was having a bad week, for reasons that don’t need to be discussed in public.  My best friend, Stephanie, and her ex-boyfriend, Tim, helped me to bring a new dog into my life.  It took me more than 2 years to be ready for one after the death of my previous dog, Melanie.  Stephanie got her for me, too, so it was important to me that we would make this memory together.

    Getting Speedy Shine everything he needed today took most of the rest of my money.  Then, a good friend, for no reason at all, sent me a message just now to check my Venmo.  I have the resources to make it a little longer.  It’s like the Universe has decided that, no matter what is going on, I’m going to be all right.

    I continue to believe that Love is the most powerful force in the Universe.  I keep seeing its power over and over.

    Thank you for being a part of my life.  I am beyond lucky to be the recipient of so much Love.

    None of this repairs the damage that my friend did to me, but I will find ways to do that, myself.  What it did was serve as a treatment for the hatred that tried to seep in.  Hamlet taught us 400 years ago that nothing good can come from hatred. 

    It wouldn’t have helped me to hurt someone who hurt me.  It would simply have hurt him, and I decline to derive pleasure from someone else’s pain.  For me, living a happy life, without hurting the one who hurt you, is the best revenge.  The longer I live, the colder the dish gets.

    I don’t know what you do to turn up the Love and Joy in your life.  It might be spending more time with your kids.  It might be finding the courage to spread your own Love as far as you can before the Hate can pull it away.  Do you want to fight a battle?  Fight to rescue the Love in your heart.  Remember the words of The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

    “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.  Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

    When the skies are darkest, we can Shine most brightly.  Let’s all try to spark the Light of Love to Shine through the Darkness of Hate.

    Posted on by Fred

    The Devil’s Second Greatest Trick

    “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was to convince the world he didn’t exist.”

    • Verbal Kint in “The Usual Suspects”

    Let’s begin, just for a change, with where we agree.  Happiness is good.  Freedom is a core value, necessary for happiness to exist.  Freedom means being able to choose for ourselves what to do with the time we are given.  Our country is founded, above all else, on the idea of Freedom.  And yet, we have adopted a mindset that works to deny meaningful liberty to the vast majority of its population.  We believe that work, particularly work that makes one miserable, exhausted, and unfulfilled is our highest value.  We have been sold the idea that, of course, obviously, we all must work.  We have to earn money.  “How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?!”  We are taught to be proud of the exhaustion, the degradation, the horrors we have tolerated in order to live.  The idea of laziness is anathema to our thinking.  To call someone lazy is among the greatest insults one can hurl. 

    The Puritan Work Ethic is so deeply ingrained in us that to think otherwise is, for many of us, simply impossible.  Tonight, I’m going to ask you to do The Impossible.  I’m going to ask you to entertain the idea that laziness… that relaxing, spending the minutes of your life in the ways that make you feel good, that grant you fulfillment, purpose, and Joy… is really the best way to spend your life.  I’m going to expose the Devil’s Second Greatest Trick.  He wants you to be miserable.  I want you to be happy. 

    As long as we believe that a certain portion of our lives needs to be given over to suffering, we will serve those whose lives contain few of the challenges most of us face.  The Pharaoh convinced millions that his wishes were divine edicts, and in this way, he got them to build pyramids.  He didn’t need to work because his needs outweighed theirs.  He had power.  They did not.  Kings lived in luxury while peasants slaved away in deference to them.  Slave owners became rich off of the work of their slaves. 

    “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong with the world.”

    • Paul Farmer

    I’m not going to claim that no one should work.  I recognize that society requires labor in order to function.  The Puritan Work Ethic has its roots in the reality from which it sprang.  For most of the 200,000 years human beings have inhabited this planet, ceaseless, grueling labor was required if we wanted to survive.  We had no shelter.  We had to gather, hunt, or steal our food.  We had to protect ourselves from the elements.  We had more work to do than could be done in a lifetime.  And you know what?  We did it.  We accomplished all of these things, and we learned how to do them better, more efficiently, with less and less physical labor all the time.  We grew.  We improved.  We blossomed.  We learned to keep ourselves alive much longer.  We became safer, smarter, healthier, and increasingly moral. 

    But that idea persisted.  We have to work.  We have to work some more.  We have to work hard.  The harder we work, the longer we work, the more difficult the work we have done, the better people we are.  To say one has worked hard is among the greatest compliments we can pay each other.  It suggests that the fact of work, itself, is a wonderful thing.  Is it really?  Why is that?

    When our earliest ancestors worked ceaselessly, they were the beneficiaries of their own work.  If Og killed a lion, Og got to eat.  If a farmer grew some crops, the farmer got to eat.  The hard work they did was for themselves.  It might have been for their families to the extent that they had them.  It didn’t enrich someone else.  The fruits of their labor were theirs to enjoy. 

    But as we developed societies, we decided that some people deserved more than others.  We developed the concept of owning land.  While the Earth had once been shared by all of us, now it belonged to a few of us. 

    Today, most of the wealth is owned by fewer and fewer people.  The work that most of us do is designed to make someone else wealthier.  We get paid with these little green pieces of 75 percent cotton and 25 percent linen.  They have no actual value, except that we agreed at some point that they do.  We use them to prove ourselves worthy of whatever it is we want to get.  I have enough to be worthy of a 12 pack of Diet Pepsi or the occasional pastrami sandwich.  I will never have enough of them to be worthy of a yacht.  Other people have enough to be worthy of anything on Earth.  Why do they have so many pieces of cotton and linen?  They got other people to work for them.  They got people to work hard for them.  They induced people to wear themselves out and make themselves miserable, so the Few don’t have to anymore.  They made working for others into an unquestioned virtue.  It is so much a part of the American Consciousness that even to question it is a form of heresy. 

    Last week, a local news station asked if their viewers believed we should get another stimulus check.  I wrote what I thought was an innocuous response, thinking it might make people nod in quiet agreement.  My hope was to reinforce what I assumed other would probably think anyway.  Here’s what I wrote:

    I don’t see why people should be required to do jobs they hate just to survive. If the only way to get someone to work is to threaten them with homelessness and brutal poverty, we’re not doing much of a job of creating decent jobs.

    Give everyone enough to meet their basic survival needs. Then let people do the work they choose.

    There is no inherent virtue in being miserable for most of your life.

    I never saw so much righteous rage directed at me. 

    Someone named Doug wrote:

     “why would anybody want to work, if they get enough to survive ?

    “Hunger drives someone to work.  How many people love their jobs?  If you give somebody something why would they want to work. I am a realist.  look up the song with part of the words “get a job “. From the 80’s

    Love what you do no matter what it is and you will succeed. Who wouldn’t want good pay for doing nothing much.”

    I agree with you, Doug.  The threat of hunger and homelessness is the motivation for such people to work.  Wouldn’t life be nicer if we didn’t have to bow down to those who have more green pieces of cotton and linen than we have?  We could do that with a Universal Basic Income.  We’ll discuss that in a little more depth in a bit.  Oh… and was the song you were looking for Bruce Hornsby’s “The Way It Is?”

    A Man in a Silk Suit hurries by

    Catches the poor old lady’s eye

    Just for fun he says, “Get a job!”

    -Bruce Hornsby

    Perhaps the context was lost on you.  The Man In The Silk Suit is an asshole. 

    Someone named Leslie made a similar point.  We’ll excuse her spelling errors and just concern ourselves with her content:

    “WRONG!  People need motivation.  If you are motivated to get a job to pay your bills, you will WORK.  Otherwise, why bother?

    This mentality is very dangerous.  The Constitution says we have the right to life, liberty and the PERSUIT of happiness.  NOT that it will be given to us on a silver platter.  One must work for it.  The jobs are there.”

    I agree.  The jobs are there.  There is a difference between working for yourself and working for someone else, however.  When my labor makes someone else rich while I can barely afford to pay rent, that hardly seems like an idea situation, does it?

    Susan told me,

    said like an unemployed child. “The work they chose”?  Who will chose to clean toilets 3rd shift or flip burgers in 100 degree heat? There is dignity in all work.  And the hard, dirty work that requires little skill or education should not pay as much as the job that requires a life time and dedication. But it should serve as a motivation to do better.  To get an education.  Or to show up on time and become a team lead then a manager.  Get married and sacrifice a little when your young to build a better life.  This utopian dream you want isn’t real.  The US and Capitalism offer the best life anywhere.  It is literally why people flee Venezuela and EU socialism to get here.” 

    In other words, Susan, we need jobs done, but those that do them shouldn’t make enough to live.  I couldn’t possibly disagree more.  And here’s the thing with which we all need to deal.  Automation is eliminating jobs at an alarming rate.  Even those who worship the Puritan Work Ethic will soon find that there are fewer and fewer jobs to do because computers, AI, and robots do them more efficiently, accurately, and cheaply.  When was the last time a bank teller gave you cash?  That was a common job when I was a child.  Now we all use ATMs.  Go to Wal Mart, and you can still find a few cashiers, but you will find many more self-checkout lanes.  Amazon has developed an entire store without any cashiers or even checkout lines.  It just automatically charges you.  There are already robots flipping burgers.  There will be more, not less, of this in the future. 

    And I agree.  Who would choose to do the jobs you described?  They suck.  Let’s automate them, and then let’s give human beings more opportunity to enjoy their lives.  The New York Post reports that Marriott hotels are testing replacing desk clerks with automated kiosks. 

    “The future is automated.  The present should already be automated.  Existing tech could automate half of all our tasks.  We choose not to automate out of a belief that toil is good for us, and that we can’t just distribute money absent labor as an automation dividend when we should.

    • Scott Santens

    And, the Utopia I describe is not only possible, but it will be a reality when enough of us decide we want it to be.

    Bonnie wrote:

    that’s great Fred.  I choose to create art at home.  Will you pay my bills until I start selling my creations?  (if I ever do) oh, and you’ll need to pay my taxes too…

    I would love love love for you to create Art at home!  I can’t pay your bills because I don’t have enough money.  The government, though, that group that represents you, me, and everyone else, certainly does. 

    And, finally, someone I respect very much asked,

     a couple of questions-who is going to supply everyone enough for their basic needs.  Where does the money to supply these needs come from.

    It’s time to discuss something I learned this month.  It’s called Fiat Currency.  It turns out our currency in America is backed by… nothing.  It used to be gold.  Now… there’s nothing that exists to make our money valuable.  It’s a question of how much the government prints.  And, as it turns out, they don’t even have to print so many of the little green pieces of cotton and linen.  They can simply choose a number and inject it into the economy. 

    It’s different from, for example, food.  I can’t give you more food than I have.  The food is a tangible object.  It has to be grown and cultivated.  The same is true for most of the basics of survival.  Homes must be built.  Water must be gotten to people in pipes or bottles.  Medicine must be created and administered.  Money?  We just decide we have more.  The economic debate over Fiat Currency is intense, and I won’t presume to wade into it.  The money, though, comes, essentially, from the will of the government to create it.  So, who is going to supply everyone enough for their basic needs?  We are.  The United States government is you and me.  What is the source of the money?  The pressing of a few buttons. 

    There were more than 100 comments, many of which were simple insults, but I’ve covered the basic message of them, I think.  Someone named Elizabeth took the time, evidently, to visit my page.  She mentioned I do a podcast, and these folks were giving me material.  You’re right, Elizabeth, but that really wasn’t my intention.  I just hoped I might cause one or two people to think about the idea that being forced to work is really not the best way to create a happy society. 

    “I have one life and one chance to make it count for something… My faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I am, whenever I can, for as long as I can with whatever I have to try to make a difference.”

    -Jimmy Carter

    Now, think about this:  When are you happiest?  Isn’t there a wonderful exhilaration that accompanies the end of your work week?  Two whole days off to do what you choose is a thrilling idea for most of us.  When I was a teacher, summer vacation was a cause of ecstasy for me.  I had a couple of months off to do what I chose with my time. 

    You and I are here for an incredibly short time.  Few of us will get a century.  None of us gets two.  In the time we’re here, we need to find all the happiness we can.  There is the idea that if we live this life properly, we’ll have a better one in the future.  Perhaps we’ll go to Heaven.  Maybe we’ll get reincarnated.  We might reach Nirvana.  I don’t know what will happen in any life following this one.  I do know, though, that right now, this is the one we have.  To decide that I’m going to give up my happiness now in hopes of having more in a life about which we know nothing firsthand is tragic. 

    The Wealthy, for whom most of us are working, want you to believe that you should be miserable.  They want you to believe that anything that doesn’t serve them is a bad idea.  The Wealthy have created an oligarchy that works hard to ensure that they have more and you have less.  They have done this so successfully that even the idea that you should be happy, and you should be free to choose what to do with the minutes that make up your life, has become heretical among those who have the least.  It’s a brilliant bit of Social Engineering.

    What would life be like if we all had enough to meet our basic needs?  I can’t tell you what anyone else’s life would be like, but I will tell you how it has changed mine. 

    Three years ago, I was miserable.  After teaching Elementary School in a career that spanned 4 decades, 2 centuries, and 2 millennia, I retired in 2016.   The first year, I made ends meet.  I pulled all of what was left of my retirement, after two divorces, and I paid off my bills and lived happily.  The money, of course, ran out.  I got roommates, but it worked out disastrously.  I have spent most of the last four years on the verge of homelessness.  I couldn’t work anymore.  I went to the hospital 14 times in 3 years.  My diabetes destroyed my body, and I did what I could to survive.  I applied for Disability.  After 3 years, it finally came.  It provides me with almost, but not quite, enough money to meet my needs.  I had to add the revenue from the podcast to get approved for my tiny little apartment.  When I got Disability, they sent me sufficient back pay that I now have my lease paid for its duration, and I have all I need.   

    To illustrate the difference, a year ago yesterday, I was hiding in my room hoping I could avoid the roommates who had once loved me, but didn’t even like me anymore because I couldn’t bring in enough money, and my food stamps didn’t contribute enough to the household to make my existence in their lives worthwhile.  I walked on eggshells.  My house was filthy, and I was allowed to clean it only at certain times and under carefully prescribed conditions.  There were bugs crawling on the dishes in the sink from food I neither cooked nor ate, and I had to hope I could be alone long enough to get them done.  I got yelled at because I used too much dish soap.  The house reeked of trash that never got to the wastebasket.  Opening the refrigerator meant being assailed with the smell of what would have been a collection of terrifyingly successful science experiments in mold production had someone with sufficient self-discipline to conduct a study left them there.   I was desperate for the pandemic to end so I could get back to work and I wouldn’t be met with contempt every time I strayed from my room.  I was afraid of what the next minute, next hour, next day might bring.  I welcomed the idea of death.  I saw no hope.  I saw no light.  I was unable to Shine.  I believed myself to be all but worthless.  I filled my syringe to the top with insulin.  For reasons I still don’t entirely understand, I didn’t inject myself.  I suppose there was a tiny ray of light sneaking in through the broken places that kept me alive one day more. 

    Yesterday I felt proud of my work.  I woke up around 6 AM.  I finished watching “The Cowboys” and cried a little.  I had a cigarette and chatted with my neighbor.  I came in and played music that moved me while I wrote a portion of this.  My house was clean.  I had all that I needed.  I felt alive.  I began to understand what it meant to feel.  The emotions I forced myself to suppress for so long are rising to the surface with unsuspected power.  Why is this happening?

    I have my basic needs met.  My physiological and safety needs are met.  I have enough food.  I have my insulin.  My rent is paid.  I have internet and electricity.  I have a phone.  I get to choose what to do with every minute of my life, within the boundaries of my financial resources.  I can’t choose to take a cruise around the world.  The thing is, I didn’t really want to do that anyway.  That would be leaving the house.  The mailbox is as far as I ever want to go.  I could choose to get a VIP ticket to a Sara Niemietz and Snuffy Walden concert, though.  And I wanted that very much.  I’ll go beyond the mailbox for that much Joy.

    Does this make me evil?  Is my happiness, whose genesis was the end of my suffering, a sin?  Am I worthless because I choose to spend the minutes I have left in life on things that make me happy?  I decline to feel guilty about that. 

    If we have any real responsibility in life, it is to do our best to be as happy as we can in the time we have.  I’m not endorsing hedonism here.  I’m not advocating selfishness.  I would hope you would derive happiness from being kind to others, trying to change the world, or simply staying out of everyone’s way.  So long as you’re not hurting anyone, I want you to do whatever makes you happiest.  I want this one life you have to be the very best it can be. 

    Let’s meet everyone’s basic needs.  Everyone should be able to live the way I do.  Many of you should be able to live better.  No one should live worse than I do. 

    Let’s stop making a virtue of suffering.  Let’s do what we can to end as much suffering as we can.  We have far too few happy people and far too many martyrs.  I would rather you and I and everyone else be happy than be pitied. 

    “Cracks and broken pieces

    Inside us

    Where the light comes in

    Brightest”

    -Sara Niemietz

    Suffering is unavoidable.  A life without Love is empty.  The Price of Love is always suffering.  When you love someone, one way or another, it will end.  Either your relationship will end, in which case you will be sad, or one of you will die, in which case, again, you will be sad.  This is especially true of dogs and cats.  We almost always outlive them, and the pain of that loss is searing.  The settled order of nature tells us we will lose our parents, but the loss of a child is unnatural and smells of an evil in the world. 

    No one can protect us from that suffering.  It’s a price I’m willing to pay.  The value of Love is the only thing greater than its price. 

    But needless suffering can be, should be, and, some day, will be eliminated. 

    A Universal Basic Income –- not programs for this and programs for that — but simply cash that is sufficient for a person to pay rent, to eat, to keep their utilities running, added to the Universal Health Care that nearly all other First World countries have, and free education for as long as a person wants to learn would allow us to work in the ways in which we are most interested and allow us to live in True Freedom.  Make the employers compete for workers instead of workers begging for wages. 

    “Shame at our own dependence on the underpaid labor of others.  When someone works for less pay than she can live on – when she goes hungry so that you can eat more cheaply and conveniently – then she has made a great sacrifice for you.  The working poor are the major philanthropists of our society.”

    • Barbara Ehrenreich, Nickel and Dimed

    Let’s drop The Puritan Work Ethic and replace it with The Human Freedom Ethic.  Let’s allow everyone to Shine.

    This was written in April, 2021. I have only now added it to my blog.

    Posted on by Fred · 1 Comment

    My Life Now

    Speedy Shine and Me

    It is probably unwise to do this episode because it’s likely to cost me some of the Patreon support that has helped me to get to the life I have always wanted.  Sometimes when someone thinks I’m doing all right, they stop supporting me because they feel like I don’t need it anymore.  To be clear, I’m nothing approaching wealthy.  I’m never going to be.  I do, however, if I am very careful, have enough to live every month.  This is, in large part, because of the help my Patreon supporters, and several other good friends of mine, have given me.  I have, for example, one friend who is the mother of one of my classmates from my days in high school who sends me lovely cards with $40 in them from time to time.  She thinks of it as nothing, but it makes it possible for me to get through just a little longer, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

    My Valentine

      Another friend got his taxes back, and, for absolutely no reason, sent me $75.  Those unexpected gifts help me to get the little extras.  I just got another blanket that has no stuffing because of my friend’s tax return gift.  Speedy Shine can’t ruin it.  My room isn’t covered in feathers anymore.  My life is better, and I get to enjoy luxuries I wouldn’t otherwise even consider. 

    Without my Patreon support, I would never make ends meet every month.  Without having the good fortune of renting a place for half price, I would never make ends meet every month.  If I still had a car, I would never make ends meet every month.  I’ve learned to adjust my life to my meager means.  I can’t afford to buy every book I want (but one of The People on The Porch – Frau Bleucher —  just bought me Valerie Bertinelli’s latest book, for which I could not be more grateful), and I still can’t afford my bookcases or to get my plumbing fixed, but I don’t spend every day worrying about getting evicted, or losing my electricity, or paying for my internet, because all of those things are covered in my wildly reduced rent. 

    (Update:  My best friend has become a Notorious Furniture Flipper.  She buys furniture cheaply at something called Offer Up with the intention of selling it at a profit.  She’s gotten the furniture several times now, but she’s never sold any.  Either she or her boyfriend decide they love it and want to keep it.  Using these newfound skills, she is shopping for 4 big bookcases for me for a total of $50 or less.  I’m hopeful she will be successful.  It would be a huge step toward making my life complete.)

    This didn’t come easily.  I’m the recipient of more kindness and generosity than I could possibly deserve.  I never forget that for even a moment.  But, I also worked hard to get where I am.  I worked at grocery stores when I was a kid.  I worked at Day Care Centers when I was a little older.  I went to NAU for a little more than 4 years (we don’t talk about my first semester, thank you), I became a teacher, and I did that for 29 years.  I taught Defensive Driving on weekends during the final five years of my Elementary School teaching career because my salary wasn’t keeping up with inflation.  Rent kept going up, but my checks didn’t.  When I quit teaching, I took most of a year off, and I lived the life I had always wanted.  I had to go back to work, and I sold Direct TV for quite a while and taught all the Defensive Driving classes I could get.  I drove for Postmates.  And when my Diabetes finally destroyed what was left of my health, I spent nearly 3 years trying to get my Disability. 

    Disability pays my half price rent and my phone bill.  Everything else is funded by Patreon.  The license I just got for the software I use to do this show was paid for by The People on The Porch.  When I have to renew the license for the music I use, that will also come from the money I get from Patreon.  It took me more than 2 years, doing at least one episode a week, to get to this point.  I’m proud of my success.

    I no longer live The Life of The Desperate.  I did.  I lived it for a long time, and, I have to tell you, it sucks.  If it weren’t for you (and, let’s face it, if you’re listening to this show, you’re almost certainly one of The People on The Porch.  I don’t think very many others listen.) I could never have made it this far.  You made my better life possible.  And I couldn’t be more grateful.  Please please please don’t stop.  I am beating my depression for the first time in years, and it’s because my circumstances are no longer anxiety producing.  You did that for me. 

    When you think (as I often do) that doing the little things doesn’t matter, I want you to know what you are really doing.  You are helping me to have this life, and without you, it would be impossible.  Every single dollar goes into creating the life I think everyone ought to be able to have.  This show is mostly about trying to create a world where everyone has the kind of life you have granted me.

    What is that life like?

    Waking Up

    This morning, without an alarm, I woke up a little after 6 AM.  The first thing I felt was my dog, Speedy Shine, cuddling next to my leg.  I smiled.  I took my first conscious breath.  I took a moment to appreciate the beauty of that experience.  We shared loves and cuddles until he woke up, did his morning shake, and then gave me kisses.  I felt good before I was even out of bed.  We laid there a little longer.  He needed a few more minutes of cuddling before we both went to take care of our morning business.  While I did mine, he came in and put his paws on my lap to remind me he loves me.  After he did his, he came over to my backyard chair to tell me he was a Good Boy.  We went in for Treatsers, but he didn’t really care about them.  He just wanted to show me how good he was. 

    I went back out for a morning cigarette and to see what happened in the world while I was asleep.  People had responded to my pictures of Speedy Shine and the new covers that wouldn’t spread feathers all over my room.  They had nice things to say.  Speedy Shine laid on the blankets by the back door so he could watch me.  It was too cold for him out there, but he wanted to be sure I was still around.  I wish I could find the words to explain how good that makes me feel.

    I texted my best friend to tell her I hope she slept well, that I hope things are going well with her boyfriend, that I hope work goes well, and that I continue to love her most.  That always sets her up with a nice start to a day that is going to be much more difficult than mine.  I know.  I did what she’s doing today every day for 29 years.  Teachers can use all the emotional resources they can get.  I make sure that I tell her I love her whenever we’re done talking or texting for a bit.  I recognize I could easily be dead before we communicate next.  I want to be sure the last thing she hears from me is that I love her.  I do the same thing with my Mother.  I do the same thing with Speedy Shine.  I do it sometimes with you.

    I played a game of Clue on my phone.  We used to play that when I was a kid, and my brother and sister frequently beat me at it.  I hadn’t figured out the logical way to proceed yet.  For those of you who have never played the game (infants!), it’s a murder mystery.  Someone has been killed.  There are 6 suspects, 6 possible murder weapons, and 9 rooms where the murder might have taken place.  We all have six cards that are some combination of suspects, weapons, and/or rooms.  Three are in in the envelope in the middle of the board.  These are the solution.  The objective is to figure out the murderer, the weapon, and the room.  You do that by travelling from room to room and “suggesting” who might have done it, the weapon that was used, and the room in which the crime was committed.  It’s really a children’s version of The Scientific Method.  What do I mean?

    It helps if you have at least one suspect, one weapon, and one room in your hand.  When you arrive at a room you don’t have, you suggest a suspect and a weapon in your hand.  (The rules require you to use the room you’re in as the scene of the crime.)  You know those two elements.  You’re testing for the third.  If no one has it, you have found the room where the crime occurred.  If they do, you can eliminate it from the 9 possibilities.  If you arrive at a room you have in your hand, you choose either a suspect or a weapon you don’t have to test whether others do.  They are required to show you a card if they have it.  If they have two or three of the cards, they need to show you only one. 

    The Scientific Method teaches us to control all the variables except the one for which we are testing.  We know this method works.  Evidence for that can be found in the fact you’re listening to this podcast.  The computer on which I’m typing, the one on which I’ll record later, and the computer, or phone or whatever other device you’re using to play this are all direct results of the application of The Scientific Method. 

    When I first started playing this game on my phone back during my California Adventure, I always chose the option to play against the AI.  I was afraid of seeming stupid in front of other humans I would never actually see or hear.  The game doesn’t even have a chat feature.  It’s not like they can TELL me how stupid I am.  I play as Front Porch Fred.  They won’t even know my name.  But they might think I’m stupid.  Yes, these were things about which I worried.  After I had won 100 games against the AI, I felt confident enough to try it in front of other humans.  And I was shocked by the results.

    I’ve explained how to play the game correctly.  It’s not difficult.  Few of my opponents ever play it according to The Scientific Method.  They suggest three elements they don’t have in their hand.  Sometimes I will have two of them, and the third player shows them a card.  Now I know what the third player showed.  There’s only one possibility.  That’s free information.  It’s like playing Texas Hold Em and intentionally exposing one of your hole cards.  My assumption is that people hope to get lucky.  “I’m going to take a wild guess and see if I get it right.”  It’s frustrating for me when they do this on the first turn, and, before I’ve even gotten the chance to roll the dice, they’ve solved the crime.  That happens a little more than 1% of the time.  Statistically, it should occur much less often.  I assume someone has taken the time to hack the game.  I can’t imagine why they would do that.  Everyone, however, should get to spend their time as they see fit, so long as they’re not hurting anyone else.  The damage they do to me is negligible.  I’m annoyed for, perhaps, 15 seconds.  I think I’ll survive. 

    It takes me between 10 and 15 minutes to play a game of Clue.  I win 89% of the time.  Now and then, I encounter another player who also knows how to play correctly, and then it’s a true race to see who can find the right room first.  We tend to find the killer and the weapon almost simultaneously.

    When I want a shorter game, I play Othello.  This is another game we played as kids.  You flip tokens from black to white and back.  You’re either black or white; your opponent is the opposite color.  Whoever has the most tokens at the end of the game wins.  It’s another great little logic puzzle that allows me to think without taxing my brain sufficiently to make me frustrated.  I won’t play that online at all.  Even at the Very Easy level, I still sometimes lose to the AI.  A smart player can crush me, and I don’t enjoy that as much as one would think.  Again, I feel embarrassed.  I’m less interested in competition than I am in spending a few leisurely moments thinking a little. 

    Othello

    Shorter still is Solitaire.  If the game takes more than 3 minutes to win, I think of it as a failure.  I’m sure you’ve played that before.  It’s a card game we all learn as children.  I used to cheat as a child, and the phone won’t let me do that.  Sometimes the deck is unwinnable.  I can always play another one. 

    I read when I want now.  Normally, it’s during the daylight hours because I like to read outside with a cigarette.  I used to read in bed, but now I like to listen to my show when I’m going to sleep.  First, I can use the numbers.  Second, I prefer talking to myself about whatever is on the show to letting my brain run wild all night to remind me of every mistake I’ve ever made and let me know what a horrible person I am.  My podcast voice generally drowns out the voice of my Prosecutor.  (You’ll find him in Episode 97: “The Prosecution Never Rests.”)  Finally, my voice saying, “Fred’s Front Porch Podcast is made possible by…” has become a signal for Speedy Shine.  Before I even turn the bedside light out, he’s diving under the covers to secure the best cuddle spot before I go to sleep.  How lovely is that?

    After my morning routines, I like to come and sit at my computer and write.  I play my Spotify playlist (no, I don’t feel like arguing about Neil Young and Joe Rogan right now; I’m in a good mood.).  I look over my shoulder from time to time to make sure Speedy Shine isn’t destroying anything that might hurt him.  Other than that, I am essentially talking to myself through my fingers on the keyboard.  I’m rethinking my ideas.  I’m clarifying them.  I’m understanding my life a little better.  It’s a wonderful experience. 

    When I start to get hungry, I go make a microwave breakfast.  I’m ecstatic that I finally got enough in Food Stamps that I can afford to eat now.  I don’t ever worry about going hungry anymore.  This is a fantastic luxury.  I love that feeling. 

    Breakfast is always in bed.  As far as that goes, so is lunch and dinner.  I don’t have, nor do I really want, a kitchen table.  I have my TV in my bedroom, and I like to watch some Dick Wolf show while I eat.  I enjoy most of the Law & Order shows, the One Chicago shows, and I just started FBI.  They aren’t more challenging than I can handle.  They are new to me.  The characters become my friends over time.  No, it’s not Aaron Sorkin, but I can recite nearly every word of every episode of television he’s ever written.  A person needs something else.  Some of the new Star Trek shows are pretty good.  I love Picard.  Prodigy is surprisingly good.  Obviously, I’ve already seen all of The Original Series and The Next Generation more times than I can count.  So… Dick Wolf is part of the meal ritual. 

    Speedy Shine has learned “lay down.”  When I finish more than 90% of my meal, he knows he will get a little if he is a good boy.  He is always a good boy.  I share the last of the meal with him, and, in a little while, we’re either going to pull up the covers and start up the podcast, or we’re going to get up and go read outside.  I love a nice morning nap. 

    I get to choose now what to do with every minute of my life.  I have a few alarms on my phone.  I had to change the Mom call from 7:37 PM to 6:25 because she’s getting tired earlier.  She’s 91.  No one gets to complain about what time she goes to bed.  I have an alarm set for 1:45 every Wednesday so I get to Weekly Wacky Wednesday by 2, my time.  I have an alarm for 4 PM to remind me to take my Lantus.  When I have a doctor’s appointment, I have an alarm for that.  Everything else, though… those minutes are up to me.  I get at least 1 nap a day.  Sometimes, if I’m caught up on the show, I manage 2. 

    I have the time I need to write my show at a leisurely pace.  I try to have the script finished by Friday so I can record, score, and Horace on Saturday.  I bounce the episode, find about 60 seconds to use for “Next Week On Fred’s Front Porch Podcast,” and then I’m ready to go.  Sunday, I assemble all the pieces for this week’s episode, knowing I already have next week’s episode done, and I can relax. 

    I spend far too much time worrying about whether anyone likes my show.  I obsess about numbers, but I keep trying to stop that.  I’m checking my numbers less frequently.  At first, it was just ego.  Now that I’m deriving a little income from this, I find I really don’t want to lose the life I’ve worked so long to get.  You are the reason I can live my way.  I want us all to work together so everyone can choose how to spend their minutes without worrying about whether they will be able to pay rent and eat.  Everyone deserves what it took me nearly 60 years to get.  Is it possible?  Why, yes.  Yes, it is.  I know that because I’m doing it.  I want you to have a life at least as good as mine.  You deserve it every bit as much as I do.  And I couldn’t be more grateful for the life you’ve given me.  I love you very very much. 

    “What? Did you think this was YOUR chair or something?”
    — Sir Speedy Shine
    Posted on by Fred

    A Word About Amazon

    A friend, who shall remain nameless, works for Amazon. She was sent by Amazon to the doctor. The doctor quarantined her. She sent the appropriate paperwork to Amazon.

    First, of course they would pay her, they said in her phone calls, for the period of her quarantine.

    Then, of course they weren’t going to pay her, they said in the next three phone calls, for hours she never worked.

    In the next 7 phone calls, her concerns were “elevated.” She was assigned several different “case managers.” They were all going to call her within 24 hours. None of them did.

    Finally, my friend contacted her latest case manager’s supervisor. The supervisor couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t being paid, and she said her case manager would call her right away.

    Finally, my nameless friend, whose income keeps our house from poverty, got a call from the mysterious case manager. She said she would see to it she got paid immediately. Which meant tomorrow… or, if it didn’t get processed, she would be paid within 3 days.

    That was a week ago. Today we learned the case manager hasn’t “released” the money. We’re borrowing money all over hell right now so we can eat.

    I had originally published this publicly on my Facebook page, but the nameless person in this story asked me to remove it; she fears for her job if it stays.

    This is a long way around a simple point: Amazon sucks.